Legend of the Phoenix Runes
by LavenderGazelle
Summary: Men. Men so badly burned that their flesh had been blown away. There were some frozen to the spot, covered in ice that turned their skin black and severely frostbitten, and others just a mass of black, crumbling bone. The smell of rancid smoke had been replied by the stench of burning flesh and it took all of Charlie's self control not to throw up.
1. Magical Core Overload

Raking his fingers through the tendrils of ancient frozen fire, the shadow leaned over the other and exhaled a breath of white, shimmering frost. Steam drifted from the old rag he held in one hand and rose up towards the ceiling of the room. Outside the house, the night had broken and paved a way to the dawn; the sun was still rising and the horizon was turning a paling blue.

On the nest of blankets, the flame-haired, freckled sixteen year old groaned and turned his head in fitful slumber. Shivers seized him for a few minutes and then stopped; the person, a mirror image of him, lowered the rag to his body and began to gently rub the warm water over his face and chest. Magic crackled around them both like chained lightning and the chill nipped at his fingers as the first twin took his pulse. It was threading and erratic but still strong.

The scent of an oceanic storm drifted around the two; salt water, sharp, shallow high wind, the untamed, undying power of the coast. In one swift movement the twin slipped beneath the other, whose skin had taken a blue pallor, and body was drenched in cold sweat and tap water.

"Fred..." rasped the bedridden teenager, his body arching towards the warm skin beneath him as if it could get the slightest bit closer.

"I'm here, Georgie," whispered Fred quietly, coaxing back the shoulder-length strands of hair that curtained his twin's tormented face and warming his own body up with his magic. It vanished a moment later as he slipped into unconsciousness, and Fred found himself muted again.

He could feel the magical tide surging in the air. It would lash out at anyone else but it enveloped him, dragging him nearer, keeping him close. George shivered again and Fred pulled the covers up to his chin, squeezing out the excess water from the rag and slipping it beneath the collar of his night clothes.

Fred was frantic with fear as he always was when George became ill or injured. He had woken not too long ago to a frightening chill circling through the room and felt exhausted like he was heaving himself out of a stream with boulders weighing down on his shoulders. It was an unfamiliar sensation but one that sent alarm bells ringing; he hadn't had to look up to know that something was wrong with his twin. It was the start of summer and George always got sick around this time, as Fred was stricken with fever when the first flecks of unseen snow began to fall in the beginning of winter and the north winds began to howl through the trees.

It happened every year but for no obvious reason. Fred and George had managed to keep it secret from their family most of the time but he didn't know if they were aware of the strange cycle that was taking place, or that Mrs. Weasley's two twin sons seemed... different.

Despite how much she loved them, they feared their mother rejecting them if she found out... _No_. This wasn't the time for such thoughts.

A spot below his collar bone, on the center of his chest, twinged feverishly, and Fred pressed his fingertips to the glowing birthmark. Tightening his hand around the rag and breathing a shuddering breath, he reached deeper in, summoning a small handful of energy and releasing it over his brother in an attempt to keep his uncontrollable magic from smothering him or freezing him.

An ordinary healer would understand this as a simple magical core overload, which happened every ten or so years to a witch or wizard. Completely natural and fairly dangerous, but treatable. It caused various muggle sicknesses – in George's case, hypothermia, and in Fred's case, _hyper_thermia. All that had to be done was a "controlled release", where several witches and wizards of equal strength helped to channel the excess power out into the environment. With them, however, the only one strong enough to help channel the other was themselves.

Fred hated how much George seemed to suffer through this. He hated how it happened to them, but equally felt disgusted in himself that he wished it upon someone else. Nobody deserved to suffer like this.

He'd done research into it, asked questions at Hogwarts to find out in medical journals if it was normal to have it every year. Madam Pomfrey, in response to his curious, tact inquiry had denied any knowledge of it ever happening and dismissed it as impossible.

Clearly it was not. If it was, Fred and George wouldn't be tending to each other every six months, trying to save the other's life in secret. It took a prolonged lie to convince his family that they were doing homework and not to be disturbed. Their inquiries was part of the reason why they were failing their exams, but it was also responsible for their ever tightening bond as twins.

...it was getting harder to hide. Every year it grew more powerful, more dangerous … At the age of ten they had matched the amount of magic that their mother possessed (which was quite a lot, she was very powerful); at twelve, McGonagall, and at thirteen, Dumbledore … now they had surpassed even him, but they didn't have control over it. Not enough.

George shakily clawed himself onto his side, toppled over onto his stomach and weakly heaved himself up so that he clung to his twin. His ear was pressed against Fred's chest, his pounding heart. "F- Fred..."

"I'm here, Georgie," said Fred, stroking his hands through George's shoulder-length ginger hair and rubbed the back of his neck, his shoulders and pulled him closer. Each breath was punctuated by a swirl of mist. Fred couldn't take it any more. Tears begun to gather at the corner of his eyelids, a sparkling ethereal silver, and soon they were falling. "You'll be okay."

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ x ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

"Now don't strain yourself, dear. Now that you'll be staying with us for a bit, I'm sure we can arrange for you to have one of the boys' old rooms – or would you like to stay in Ron's room?" Mrs. Weasley stepped out of the Floo and swept the particles of green ash off of the palm of her hand. Harry, battered and bruised, followed only when Mrs. Weasley beckoned for him to.

After being assaulted on the first day back with the Dursleys, Harry had finally had enough and snapped. It hadn't been intentional but he suspected that the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes was just _loving_ him at that moment in time. Arthur Weasley had picked him up himself and Apparated to the Ministry of Magic, and from there he'd had to wait for Molly to pick him up.

Of course, there would be an inquiry and Harry was not looking forward to it at all, especially not after the last time he'd been dragged into court. They would be too busy scrounging out evidence from rubble and trying to reconstruct Number 4 Privet Drive, sate the gossip-craving neighbours and keep it from collapsing any further. The last time Harry had seen it, it had been left with a massive gaping hole in the front of it that the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee would probably try to pass off as a gas explosion._ Good luck with that,_ thought Harry sourly.

Mrs. Weasley guided him carefully into the chair at the dining room table and pressed a glass of orange juice into his hands. "Drink up, dear," she said. "I'll rustle up some breakfast."

"...Mrs. Weasley, am I in trouble?" asked Harry nervously.

Mrs. Weasley pulled out pots and started pulling out ingredients for one of her mouth-watering breakfasts. "I shouldn't think so, dear. Although you caused quite a bit of a commotion, children do have rather violent accidental magic bursts from time to time. You're only fourteen. It comes with puberty, you see. As you grow, so does your magic, so it tends to slip out from time to time … don't tend to stop until you're about twenty-one, usually …"

"Harry?" came a familiar voice from behind. Harry turned and Ron ran through the kitchen, smiling warily. "Good to see you, mate. Why are you here?"

"Harry will be staying with us for a while," replied Mrs. Weasley distractedly. "Organise the sleeping arrangements, would you, Ron? And wake up the others."

"You can sleep in my room if you want," Ron offered. "It's small but we can move one of the unused beds."

"Sounds great," Harry smiled weakly.

Ron looked up at Mrs. Weasley. There was a sizzle as she put some bacon onto the pan and waved her wand over it. "Let's do that now," he said. "Charlie's off in Romania so we can swipe his bed. I don't think he'll mind as long as we don't damage it."

"But isn't Charlie's room on the third floor?" asked Harry, watching as Ron pushed open the door. "And your room, isn't that on the fifth? How are we going to get it up two flights of stairs?"

"Magic?" shrugged Ron. "We can ask mum. She could probably shrink it or levitate it up. Or we could ask the twins; they're really strong and they could get it up there, no problem."

Harry smiled as he listened to one of Ron's weird anecdotes about life at the Weasleys. Harry was looking forward to living with them; he had to admit that life never seemed boring where they were concerned, especially with the twins around. Living with the Dursleys was about as exciting as Snape snatching points from Gryffindor, except that Harry hated the Dursleys a little bit more.

"Hey, George... or Fred! Hang on a minute..." Ron called.

Harry's smile faded when Fred paused just behind them. His eyes were half-lidded and distant, his expression a mixture of disorientation and fear. Rather than respond to his offered greeting, he brushed past in urgent steps and swung himself over the banister, landing with a thump on his feet in the living room.

"What's wrong with... _him?_" Harry had no idea which twin it had actually been so he couldn't say _Fred _or _George. _He'd never seen anything short of a mischievous grin on their faces so it worried him that Fred had looked so pale and defeated. They had to squeeze themselves against the wall as he shot back up the stairs before they could reach the bottom. He was carrying a bowl of water in one hand which shimmered with heat. "How come he hasn't burned his hands with that?"

"No idea. He looks sick," said Ron as Fred slipped inside the room without even acknowledging that they existed. "Come on, we have to wake Ginny. Breakfast's almost ready."

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ x ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Mrs. Weasley sat the food down on the table just as Arthur, exhausted from a long night's work, walked through the door. Ginny had helped to set up the plates, knives and forks, and the twins had just come down the stairs. Ron and Harry had already started eating, but Mrs. Weasley missed the horrified, nauseous look that George cast at his breakfast.

Sitting down beside Arthur, she glanced up at the twins. "Come on, you two. Sit down, tuck in."

The twins sat down, murmuring quietly to themselves, and began eating slowly. "Come on, give it a try," whispered one of the twins to the other. Molly glanced up. Both looked tired and just about ready to fall asleep on a pillow made of bacon and egg; one in particular looked rather miserable, because they weren't as eager to eat as usual. It concerned her but she said nothing. If they were feeling under the weather, perhaps she could catch them after breakfast and order them to bed without damaging their pride.

"Arthur, what happened at work?" she asked.

Arthur popped a bit of bacon and egg into his mouth and shielded it behind his hand. "A couple of raids... nothing new, I'm afraid. I was asked to attend a meeting – I suppose you know what about. The Order is going to come by in a few hours and set up some extra wards around the house."

"Dumbledore's coming?" asked Harry, his fork hovering half-way to his mouth.

"Yes, and he might want to talk to you as well, Harry," said Mr. Weasley kindly. For a moment he regarded Harry, and then he pointed out, "You're covered in bruises and cuts."

"It was from the explosion," lied Harry.

"Well, I've asked a healer to come by just to check you over," Mrs. Weasley announced, though her voice was sceptical. "We can't have any of those getting infected, can we? If you have a bath after breakfast, Ron could give you some of his clothes, since you can't be much smaller than he is-"

George launched himself from the table, spilling food and drinks everywhere. Before anyone could speak, Fred was following him outside into the garden, and there was the sound of retching and coughing. Startled, Mrs. Weasley dropped her fork back onto her plate and rushed outside with Arthur and the others behind them.

"It's okay, shhh, shhh..." Fred murmured, mimicking his twin's kneeling stance. George released choked sobs from his body's shock, his breathing laboured. He convulsed a few times reflexively, and a pool of vomit lay by his feet.

"Ginny, get some water," said Arthur, crouching on George's other side. "Alright now, just breathe … that's it …"

"Is he okay?" Ron stood well back, not really sure what to do. "Is it contagious?"

"No, he threw up because he feels perfectly fine!" snapped Fred crossly. He held George closer as the shivering twin spat out bile from his throat.

"I think it's more than that," said Arthur, resting a hand over George's forehead. His temperature was up but he shivered violently. "The air is supercharged with magic. Molly, better call the healer."

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ x ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

"...He'll be alright as long as he gets plenty of rest and drinks plenty of fluids. You should make him try to eat something even if he feels sick, but he should be okay in a few hours." Healer Silver-root explained, sitting on the couch. George was lying in bed with Fred sitting behind him with a book. Somewhere along the lines they'd both fallen asleep, and the book was flat on their chests, still open.

"Don't you need to get rid of the excess energy?" asked Arthur worriedly. "Is my other son in danger of contracting it? Does he need to go to St. Mungos?"

"It's not a contagious phenomenon, Mr. Weasley," replied Silver-root calmly. "There have been some instances where it was believed to have invoked a similar fever in others, but that's not necessary. As for St. Mungos, in normal cases we would prepare a sterile area to perform a controlled release procedure, but that won't be necessary."

"In normal cases? what do you mean, 'won't be necessary'?" asked Mrs. Weasley hysterically. "If my son is ill, I want him to get proper treatment!"

Silver-root smiled. His long silvery hair fell in front of his face and he flicked it back. He was an elderly healer with prominent wrinkles and long, spidery fingers. "When your young twin helped me to take his brother upstairs, there was something abnormal in the room. I've run several diagnostics over Mr. Weasley and decided that it simply isn't necessary to send him to hospital. From what I can detect, the excess energy has already been channelled from his system and released into the atmosphere."

"Already channelled? By who?"

"By his twin, Mrs. Weasley. It appears he was doing it early this morning whilst everybody slept, judging by how... 'thick' it is in that room." At their surprised expressions, he added, "I wouldn't recommend them doing that again because it is quite dangerous to even experienced healers to perform. I want you to ensure that he takes this … for the next three days or so, in order to get his reserves back to a neutral level."

Silver-root reached into the black bag he carried with him and rummaged around as he spoke. He pulled out a vial of a bright purple potion and uncorked it, sniffing it. "...yes. Yes, this is the right one. He needs about one third of this a day at regular intervals. Now is there anything else I may help you with?"

Mr. Weasley redirected him to Harry, who lingered outside the twins' room with an expression of loss and uncertainty as he took to watching them sleep. Fred looked relatively tormented, as if he could still sense that his other half was sick, whereas George looked a lot better and wasn't shivering as much as he had been before.

Harry hadn't experienced it out of his fourteen years of living, but he had been hospitalised a few times. Had it happened to him during one of those times to him? There was a time when he'd played Quidditch and fallen from his broom and woken to many faces all hovering over his sickbed. Hermione, Ron, Fred, George and some others... why had they all been there? Did they perhaps just stay by his side because he was a legend in the world of magic, or did they genuinely care about him?

And was this what it was like to have a family? To have a brother who cared and loved you so much to stay with you, and read to you, and even risk his life for you? He'd heard what Silver-root had said – he was only on the second floor and they hadn't exactly been talking in hushed voices, so it had carried a fair bit. Harry didn't like it one bit but he knew that he was jealous of the twins. He was jealous that they had each other to turn to, and he had...

"Mr. Potter?" the voice belonged to Silver-root. Harry looked up from where he had been leaning on the door frame and up at the age-softened face of the healer, who carried his bag in one hand and regarded him with a tempered sense of wonder. "I've been asked to have a look at you. Could we go somewhere private?"

"Uh, sure," said Harry, following the healer up into Charlie's room and sitting down on one of the chairs.

"I've cast a spell over the room so nobody will be able to hear us," said Silver-root. "I'm going to run a few standard diagnostic spells. Now these won't hurt but you'll need to remove your shirt. If you don't feel comfortable, we can stop at any time."

Harry pried Ron's shirt from his body and rested it on Charlie's desk. Over pale, slightly jaundiced skin, there were several scars – some recent, scratched over with cuts from the morning's events, smudged with bruises. Silver-root gave nothing away as he mumbled a quiet spell and pointed his wand at the boy, running it along the length of his body. The spells had a different reaction on him. One tingled, the other tickled slightly and caused him to squirm in his seat, and a third made his face heat up as if embarrassed. For a while Silver-root said nothing, and then he frowned.

"You have quite a few problems, Mr. Potter. Quite a few indeed. I'll start by healing the surface abrasions on your body … if you could lie down?"

Harry did as he was told. Silver-root muttered _"Episkey" _and immediately his cuts began to stitch themselves together carefully.

"I don't mean to intrude, Mr. Potter, but if I may be so bold... have you ever told anyone of your abuse?"

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ x ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

"Good afternoon, Dumbledore," Mrs. Weasley greeted as the old wizard stepped out of the fireplace, emerald embers dying around the midnight blue robes he wore. "Is there anything you need before you begin setting up the wards?"

Through half-moon spectacles, blue eyes twinkled merrily. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Weasley. Thank you, but I have everything I need with me. Where's Harry?"

"Upstairs," said Mrs. Weasley. "Healer Silver-root is with him. He was in such a state when I went to pick him up, you know. I wasn't sure how badly he was hurt."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Yes, well I suppose getting caught up in an explosion is never a good thing... The rest of the aurors will be here shortly. May I sit down?"

"Of course, of course."

Words that Silver-root had told her about the twins kept coming back to her mind. Fred had channelled George's energy and it had been dangerous... usually everything involving the twins happened at the same time, so was Fred in danger of contracting it any time soon? Did he already have it?

"Hermione Granger wishes to visit, by the way," said Dumbledore. "She deduced that Harry had been moved... the incident at Number Four Privet Drive is all over the news in the muggle world. People are starting to think it is part of a conspiracy..."

"She can come if she wishes," Mrs. Weasley said dismissively. "But it will have to wait a few days."

"The wards will be up in a few hours," Dumbledore reminded. "There shouldn't be any..."

"No, no, my boys are sick," Mrs. Weasley explained. "One of the twins had a MCO earlier this morning. That's why the healer is here now and not later."

"A Magical Core Overload?" Dumbledore frowned. "Are the boys alright?"

"Yes, they should be. Fred – or I'm assuming it's Fred – sorted it out all by himself … which he'll get a talking to about later as soon as his brother's alright. He refuses to leave his side."

Dumbledore tilted a glass between his fingers thoughtfully. "This complicates things," he murmured. "It might interfere with the wards if there's a lot of it. Could I go upstairs and see them?"

Mrs. Weasley showed the aged wizard upstairs and stepped aside at the door. Dumbledore eased it open slowly, careful not to disturb the occupants of the room. The magic was already flooding out and into the corridor like a cold breeze. As soon as he stepped in the energy attacked him from all directions. He flared his own magic, creating a shield against it, but even with as much power as he pushed into it, his shield was quickly cracking. The scent of the coast was overwhelmingly powerful and the air inside was like breathing ice.

"There's far too much." Dumbledore backed out quickly and shut the door behind him, taking a moment to catch his breath. "I can't set up the wards … we'll have to wait until it dissipates, but that could take _days_."

"So what now?" asked Molly.

"I'll post aurors to keep a watch over things. As soon as I can, I'll return to set up the wards. I need to return to Hogwarts – I have something to look into."


	2. Just A Dream

Fred and George slipped out of the back door, cautiously glancing around to check if they had been seen. After a whole day cooped up in a stuffy old room, they were both eager to get out and roam a little bit, even if it was just for an hour or so. Harry had managed to distract Mrs. Weasley while the twins had slipped out, though he wasn't aware he was involved in their escapade. Hopefully they wouldn't be seen – they had an appointment with the forest that grew just behind the Burrow.

"Slowly now," said Fred as they tiptoed over the damp grass. He kept his gaze intently trained on his twin, who walked a little awkwardly since he had pins and needles in one foot.

"My legs are dead," complained George, stumbling over one foot and leaning against his brother. "Ah, there we go. Now I have two more." He smiled and Fred snorted.

Mrs. Weasley had ordered them not to do anything too strenuous, but in their defence the definition of 'strenuous' varied between the three of them – or two of them. To Fred and George, it meant doing anything like a three mile run, but to Mrs. Weasley it could sometimes mean just sitting still and breathing, especially when one of her sons was sick. When it was Ginny, they both agreed that just existing was a difficult task. She was extremely protective of Ginny.

They entered the forest with one last glance back, in which they swore they saw Harry pause in the kitchen before moving on. Neither could be sure whether the golden boy had seen their escape attempt but they knew that if he had, he probably wouldn't rat them out. Harry was cool like that.

"It's great to be out again," sighed George, breathing in the damp forest air. It was quite warm, being the beginning of the summer holiday. The warm morning sun couldn't penetrate the thick canopy of leaves over their heads.

"Well I had to do something," teased Fred. "You waking me up... and so early! George, are you sure we're related?"

George huffed. "No, I'm Professor Snape on Polyjuice Potion, and I'm here to spy on you and steal the secrets of how you can be so attractive to the ladies." He paused and scratched at his collarbone idly. "It'd be weird if that really was the case."

"Nooo," drawled Fred sarcastically. "That sounds completely sane and not-stalker-like."

Mimicking Snape's voice, George sneered, "At birth, I knew just by looking that this child would be popular with the ladies, so in order to steal the secrets, I became a twin that was never popped out and tricked everyone, including my other-mother."

Fred laughed and added, "And believe me, I'm not a creeper."

Fred and George laughed. They continued to talk and gossip for a while as they walked, until they reached a stream deep into the forest. Neither deviated from their conversation as they stopped and sat down on an fallen, old, dead tree without even thinking about it. There were abandoned leaves still crisp from the previous couple of autumns and winters, and small stones rimmed the sides of the stream.

The twins enjoyed it here. It was peaceful, undisturbed, secluded, eerily beautiful... something here called to them, and it was enchanting. It was like the Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts, but with different kinds of creatures residing within its realm. They had several hiding places where they would go just to get away from life at the Weasleys, which sounded strange, but even the pranksters needed some time away from the rest of the brood. The reason they ventured into the Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts was because it called to them... and because they never really had been obedient.

Inhaling the scents brought a heightened sense of relaxation. Touching the plants somehow soothed their frayed nerves. Basking underneath the moonlight and sunlight just felt right to them, as if it gave them strength...

Joy radiated from the twins and they began to hum a simple tune, which began to grow and expand, until they were reeling off lyrics to a beautiful song. Birdsong chimed all around; there were a few stray animals that stopped to listen, and a few that began to sing along with them.

It was a few hours before they decided to return to the Burrow. They had been gone for so long that they knew they would be in trouble, but they honestly didn't care. George felt refreshed, as good as new, and Fred walked with a dance in his step, laughing all of the way. The house came onto the horizon and they quickened their pace to a trot.

"Honestly, Fred, I'm telling you it's a good idea for a prank!"

"I didn't say it wasn't – I agree with you! Hmm... I think it'd be easy to pull off. We'd just need to use a swapping spell, but that's child's play!" said Fred.

"What if we make different versions?" suggested George. His shoulder-length fiery locks slapped him in the face and he paused to spit it out, dragging a strand from his mouth. "One that stains your hand and doesn't come off, one that screeches when you try to use it... or bites you and doesn't let go, that'd be funny... oh, and one that does what I just said!"

"What should we call them?" hummed Fred.

"Silly Sketcher?"

"Wonky Whiteboard Wonders?"

"How about Cheeky Chalks?" said George.

"Perfect! You know, sometimes I really... uh oh."

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ x ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

"Uh oh? What do you- oh..."

"WHERE - HAVE – YOU - BEEN?" screamed Mrs. Weasley, her eyes like daggers as they latched onto the twins. Fred and George froze on the spot, acutely aware that there was a whole precession lined up at the dinner table, watching them with curious and, in Ron's case, amused eyes.

"We went out for a walk," replied George. "We needed some air after being cooped up in our room all day yesterday."

"You know how we get when we're confined," added Fred casually. The way they spoke as if nothing was wrong, which only served to fuel Mrs. Weasley's anger.

"Beds empty, no note... you could have got lost! The wards aren't set up yet – someone could have attacked you!" argued Molly. "And you-" she pointed at George "-you have medicine to take! Every day for the next two days at regular intervals – you're one hour late!"

"But I feel fine, mum, honestly," replied George, glancing at Fred. "And we didn't get lost, or attacked, or anything of the sort."

Mrs. Weasley slapped her hand down on the desk. Everyone save the twins jumped.

"You _could_ have!" Mrs. Weasley shrieked, causing the twins to flinch. "You had no way of knowing whether you would be or not! You two have no common sense, do you? And one of you is ill!" The fact that she still hadn't locked her gaze on one of them said that she couldn't tell who had been sick and who hadn't been. The twins glanced at each other. They needed an escape route and quickly, but they had no fireworks on them.

Fred looked over her shoulder; there was food on the stove, still cooking. He couldn't reach his wand, but maybe... if he could just... The food erupted into a fireball. Fred blinked in surprise. He was about to point it out when Harry, ever trying to please, rushed over and began tending to it. Mrs. Weasley hadn't even noticed.

George, noting his brother's failure, adopted a different approach. As suddenly as Mrs. Weasley had begun her tirade, it ended with a gasp as George stumbled into his twin and clutched his head, groaning quietly.

"Chair – get a chair!" ordered Mrs. Weasley, reaching forward to steady the twin. Fred pulled one arm over his shoulder and dragged George over to the table, setting him down where Mrs. Weasley would usually sit. "Oh my boy! Are you okay? Are you dizzy? Faint? Do you need a healer?"

"No, it's just a headache," said George weakly. "Sorry..."

"Don't be sorry, George-"

"Fred."

"-Fred. Here, take your medicine and then go lie down. I'll have dinner brought in to you. George, you help him into the sitting room – make sure he's comfortable."

'Fred' reached down and wrapped his arm around his brother's waist, who smiled at him as they moved into the sitting room. "Come on, _George,_" said 'Fred', "No more whiz-bangs for _you_."

"D'awww..."

"Nice thinking," whispered Fred when they were out of earshot, letting his brother go so they could both sit down on the sofa.

"You set the food on fire, I take it?" said George. Fred nodded, itching his collarbone. "Thanks, twin. Now we're eating ash for dinner. I thought mum was cooking, not Ron."

"I tried!" complained Fred. "It's not _my_ fault she didn't notice. Instead Harry had to snuff it out."

George snorted. "Couldn't you have set that old mug on fire instead? Seriously, I swear something lives in there."

"Something probably does," said Fred. "It probably looks a helluva lot like Ron, too. Have you _seen _it?"

"Long lost twin?"

"Uh, no," Fred shook his head, "There's no way I'm accepting two sets of twins in his family, nor something so ugly. Ron's bad enough – we don't need two of him."

"Three? Percy's pretty gruesome if you ask me."

"I didn't ask, but touché."

"That was a pretty dangerous thing you did," said a voice that sounded suspiciously like Harry. He walked in carrying a tray, and he had on one of Ron's old shirts that was pulled down and had a hole in one of the long sleeves. "You could have set the house on fire."

"But we didn't," Fred pointed out.

"And if we did, we could have put it out, no problem," added George.

Harry set down the tray on the table beside the couch and smiled. "I don't doubt you could have," he said.

But there was something else in his downcast eyes. Something that stirred a mischievous urge within the twins. It was something like a mixture of discomfort and fear, or was that uncertainty? Fred managed to sneak a look at George before Harry straightened up again.

"Hey, Harry, you want some sweets?" offered George, pulling some out from his pocket and holding them out. There was a Ton-Tongue Toffee, a Canary Cream and several other trick sweets there.

Harry eyed them suspiciously. He obviously knew that they had been tampered with, but he smirked and pocketed them with a look that made the twins grin. "No, but I'm sure Ron would."

"That's our boy!" said Fred, patting Harry on the back.

Harry did get Ron good, the twins discovered later that night, when there was an angry avian screech from upstairs and a giant, plump, moulting canary screamed its way down the stairs. The good thing about it was that Fred and George had been helping Mr. Weasley wash the dishes so they couldn't be blamed for any of it. When Mrs. Weasley came downstairs, she huffed and a bright yellow feather fluttered down from her mouth and her hair was sticking up and dotted with feathers.

"It wasn't us," said the twins in unison, pointing to Mr. Weasley, who nodded.

"Ron got turned into a canary," said Mrs. Weasley by way of explanation. Mr. Weasley nodded in understanding and as he turned back to finish up the dishes, there was a slight smile on his face that his wife couldn't see, but encouraged the twins tenfold.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ x ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Fred lay on his stomach on his bed, staring across the room at his twin, who had his eyes closed and seemed to be breathing in the magic around him. It was still very cold in the room so Fred had the covers pulled up to his chest, his hand beneath his beating heart with the tips of his fingers resting just beneath his collar bone, massaging the skin there.

That spot had always burned for some reason. It burned when he was away from his twin, or when he was in danger (which was when it burned to the point where it actually hurt), but he always felt it when he used his magic. It only settled when he was with George, who felt the same but said his felt more like frostbite.

Was that what Harry's scar felt like?

Speaking of Harry, what was with his behaviour recently? When he was with Ron, or around them, he acted happy, as if nothing could ever go wrong. But when he was alone, when he didn't think anyone was looking, there was something wrong. Something very, very wrong.

Fred knew that Harry hadn't had an easy life. His parents were murdered when he was a child and the same genocidal maniac was out for his blood too. Before and after rescuing him from the Dursleys, they knew that he had been abused by them as well, and he saw no end to the bullying or rest from tragedy at Hogwarts. It was why Fred and George tried to cheer him up and keep him sane through pranks and other things, but there were some things they couldn't get away with at home, especially if they wanted to keep their own sanity with their mother lurking around every corner.

Fred couldn't help but feel slightly responsible for everything, and as he caught a slight flash gazing back at him, he knew that George shared these thoughts. Out of the two of them, George was more sensitive to the emotions of those around him, but this in turn reflected on him. Where Fred had a short fuse and a large bomb, George was the opposite: his fuse was twice as long, but the explosion he caused when it finally sizzled into nothing was second to none. It was like setting off a cluster bomb.

Sighing, Fred slipped out of his bed and padded across the room. That was a benefit of having the second floor – they didn't have to worry about waking anyone up by walking around. Talking was a different problem – the walls were thin so their voices, naturally loud, often carried up a floor. Thankfully it was abandoned as of recent. Charlie was in Romania and Bill was working as a curse breaker in Gringott's bank.

Still, they both felt reassured when they had each other. Sleeping in their own beds, they didn't have the physical contact that they craved. When they were younger they used to share a bed, but when they began to grow older, Mrs. Weasley and Mr. Weasley began making them sleep separately. Sometimes it was nice just to snuggle up together in private and talk. They'd had countless 'twin' moments like that, where they confided things in each other that would usually just be kept secret.

George tiredly lifted his blanket and shuffled back, allowing Fred to slip underneath the covers. Both lay on their stomachs, their arms wrapped around the other, pulling the other closer. The odd spot just below their collarbones tingled warmly and then relaxed.

George's skin was cool even beneath the blankets. His breath was cool against Fred's warm skin. For a moment they just basked in each others presence.

"How are you feeling?" whispered Fred softly.

George moaned sleepily. "Better. It's been a bit warm recently... all of my magic has been like a fan in my face."

Fred smiled into their flat pillow. When he was younger he would have protested that George was freezing and that he would catch a cold if he didn't warm up, but George had this thing where he could stand out in snowfall and not get sick, but he would feel the heat of summer like he was sitting in an oven. It was the complete opposite of Fred, who would fall ill from a draft in the room but could run around in the sun like a lion.

"You're warm," George slurred, pressing closer.

"And you're cold," Fred scoffed. "A moment ago you were complaining about it being too warm."

"Don't care." George muttered. "Shut up and go to sleep. We're going to have to get up early tomorrow, you know."

"Why?"

George smirked. "We need to do something about Harry, you know."

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ x ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Harry broke out of his nightmare, gasping and struggling for breath. His scar was on fire and he clawed at his forehead, begging it to stop.

Ron was asleep nearby, unaware of his room mate's distress. He shifted slightly and moaned in his sleep but did not wake. Harry crept out of bed and out of the room, heading down the stairs as quietly as he could. He didn't want to wake Mrs. Weasley, who was nestled beside her husband, who for once had been given the night off of work. They'd done so much for him, he didn't want to disturb their sleep.

He'd had another nightmare – the same nightmare he'd had a few days ago, the first day of the summer break... before he'd destroyed the Dursley's house. They'd pressured him - Dudley had bullied him, and for attempting to defend himself, Vernon had taken out the belt and beaten him with it. It had only been when he couldn't take the pressure, when everything had just become too much...

He moved down the stairs and managed to get to the second floor before he passed by the twins' door. The corridor smelled eerily of gunpowder and it triggered so many unwanted, false memories which were still fresh at the front of his mind. It was the twins that had been the source of his trauma. The door was slightly ajar... perhaps he could check on them.

He remembered the dream vividly. It had almost been like a recall of everything that had ever happened to him – the two years he'd spent at Hogwarts, the life around it. But then there had been unfamiliar events, events that hadn't happened, that he felt would happen if he didn't try to prevent them.

Harry closed his eyes and rested his hand on the door handle.

_Harry couldn't see anything else; tunnel vision had him transfixed on the scene before him. The scene that he'd caused... just by living. He was numb to it all, feeling more like a spectator, a ghost that could be touched, but couldn't at the same time._

_George lay on the sofa, his face and shirt drenched in blood. Fred let out a terrified, horrible choking sound as he launched himself through the wall of Order members and sent them sprawling with just enough force to topple Hagrid. Harry crashed into Lupin who fell to the floor with a grunt. Fred didn't care. He grasped at George's clothing, his eyes as wide as a deer caught in headlights, and didn't let go. Mrs. Weasley would have found it impossible to pry his white-knuckled hands from his twin with a vice._

_His mouth opened several times; he tried to speak, but all that came out was an inarticulate clicking sound as the words and breath caught in his throat. His twin was breathing but unconscious, and Fred seemed mute to it all. He just continued to stare at the source of the blood, and if Harry hadn't seen George, he would have thought that Fred was the one who had been hit by the vicious curse._

_George's ear had been shredded from his head._

_It was only when George began to stir that he found his voice, and George dragged Fred towards him. They clung to each other as if they couldn't get close enough. "I'm so glad you're okay," could be heard through sobs. "I was so, so worried..."_

_And then... then he was standing over Fred's body, staring at the ghost of his last smile. There was a bone chilling wail that made even McGonagall tremble, and George was falling to his knees... and then he was screaming. He was screaming and nobody could stop him. He clung to his twin, shouted, pleaded, threw off anyone who dared to get near, and by the time Voldemort called off his truce, Harry believed he could have knocked the doors down had they not already been wide open, in his attempt to kill every death eater he could find._

_He survived the war. Fred didn't._

_Nineteen years later he had children with Angelina, a Chaser in the Quidditch team, Fred's ex-girlfriend, but he never recovered. He kept on grieving, grew paler and sicker and aged far, far too fast... until they found him dead on Fred's grave at the age of forty._

_Harry had been the one to find him, and the whiplash had nearly completely destroyed the Weasleys. Molly and Arthur had died blaming themselves, Ron and Hermione had got a divorce after Ron got drunk and violent out of grief and Ginny, his wife, had fallen into depression._

Harry didn't realise that he was choking on his breath and crying until he heard hushed whispers from inside the twins' room and felt the door handle twist and pull a little in his fingers. There might have been a dark eye peeking out at him (because this isn't frightening in the least), and he might have been staring at it blindly, he didn't know. He slammed the door shut, heard two startled "Hey!", and bolted downstairs as fast as he could manage without falling.

He hid in the bathroom, panting heavily, afraid that he'd been caught out. For a few minutes there was shouting in the house - "It's alright, mum, the wind blew the door shut. Go back to bed." - and then silence. Ron wouldn't wake up – the boy would sleep through the apocalypse, Harry knew from experience.

Praying that the twins would have gone back to bed, Harry opened the door to the bathroom and immediately pressed himself against the wall, cursing quietly. It was pitch black and he couldn't see much aside from what was outlined in moon silver, but he could see a flicker of movement in the living room and hear someone knocking into furniture.

"Have you got your wand?" hissed the voice of either Fred or George.

"They're upstairs. Didn't think we'd need it," intoned the other, perfectly identical voice. "He's gotta be down here somewhere."

"He was crying." Harry stiffened. So they _had_ seen him. "Listen for breathing."

"Hang on. I think I can..." suddenly a fireball sprouted in one of their hands, sending firelight streaming throughout the room. It glowed, bathing them in orange that made their hair look like liquid flame. The fireball flickered and danced, hovering in his palm like a large candle flame.

_How is he doing that without a wand? I didn't even hear him mutter a spell! And how is he handling fire without getting burned?_

He could see them both clearly now; they were both shirtless, dressed in matching black night pyjama bottoms with their eyes narrowed against the light. They both had powerful, lean muscles, telling of their identities as Quidditch Beaters. The twin holding the fireball's eyes seemed to be glowing a slight reddish colour from the flame, but as they moved throughout the room, it wasn't him who caught the reflection of Harry's glasses.

"There - in the bathroom, Fred!"

Harry shut the door and pushed himself against it. Emerald eyes were still red and puffy and his head throbbed. "Leave me alone!" he ordered, wiping his nose on his – Ron's – sleeve. "Go back upstairs!"

In a loud whisper, he was answered.

"Harry, come on out. We know you're in there – don't make us come get you."

"You're going to _portkey_ in, are you?" Harry really didn't want to talk to them. "Look, just go back to sleep. I... I have a stomach ache – I'm going to be a while."

Someone (Fred) snorted. "Yeah, and Lord Mouldy-wart sings in the shower."

George leaned towards the edge of the door and tilted his head to get the hair away from his ear. "Look, mate, we know you're upset. Just come out and talk to us about it. We want to help you. We might be goofy-"

"-and act like prats-"

"-at times, but we're not gonna laugh at you. Honest."

"Come out, mate," finished Fred. "Don't make us go upstairs and get our mother."

"Oh yeah, Fred, _threatening_ the poor bloke will really get him out." George muttered.

"Hey, doesn't matter as long as it works, George. Maybe he'll come out faster."

Harry swung open the door. They both jumped back, startled. "I don't want to talk about it! Just leave me alone, okay?"

George reached out and grabbed Harry's arm gently. "Harry, if there's something wrong-"

"There's nothing wrong!" snapped Harry irritably. He wrenched his arm out from George's grasp quite violently. The fire blazed hotter for a heartbeat as if angered but it simmered down just as quick. "I just – look, I don't want to talk about it."

"So there _is_ something bothering you."

"No! I don't need your help – just – piss off!" Harry pushed past Fred and headed towards the stairs. It was a considerably easy task since the room was somewhat lit now. The twins called out to him in hushed voices and he got to the first stair before he was yanked down by Fred, who held the fireball a few feet away from his face.

"I told you-!"

"Take this." Harry had heard that saying so many times when Dudley was playing violent video games. Bracing himself to be punched in the face, he was surprised when something was pressed into his hand by George. "What's this?"

"Something our mum uses when Ron and Ginny have nightmares," George explained. "It'll calm you down and help you sleep."

"We'll come up with you to make sure you don't fall on your face," said Fred.

"And leave you alone for tonight... but Harry-"

"-we're going to talk about this in the morning, even if we have to pin you to the floor and torture you with Ron's smelly socks."

Harry wanted to get angry and hiss at the twins to stay out of his business but their 'threat' was just so odd that he couldn't help but snicker. They helped him up the stairs, warning him when he was about to step on a particularly nasty creaking step, and waited outside when he reached the door of Ron's room. As he settled into Percy's old bed, they nodded in goodnight and extinguished the light, and he heard them making their way confidently back down the stairs. They knew the house well enough to explore in the dark, it seemed.

Before they reached the bottom of the stairs, he heard Fred mutter, "Told ya it'd get him out faster," and heard a growl and a clink that sounded suspiciously like money trading hands.

It was then that Harry noticed that his scar had stopped hurting, and as he gulped the cup of whatever it was that the twins had given him, he fell into a rest that was unperturbed by nightmares or concerns about what the twins would do to him in the morning. His last thought was if they really would go through with their threat about Ron's socks, because frankly, they _really_ did stink.


	3. Earning Their Wings

Having heard the explosion, the Order members swarmed the house with their wands drawn. Thick, black smoke was billowing out of the second floor window and the sound of mad laughter was coming from inside the house. They regained ranks, dropped into formation and waited tensely as their leader, Kingsley Shacklebolt, took point and headed inside the house.

"Freeze!" he commanded, pointing his wand at the Weasleys, who … were relaxing in the main room?

The twins brushed past him, giggling happily, covered in soot and looking like they'd just been involved in some sort of explosion... oh. Kingsley watched them with a bemused expression on his face, and pointed his wand at Mrs. Weasley.

She answered the security question correctly with a sigh. "I'm sorry, Kingsley, didn't Arthur warn you? This happens all the time."

"We think they like the noise," said Ginny in a bored tone. The twins grinned.

"We do," said Fred, waving his hand to clear the soot from his and George's clothing. "We do like the noise. Sorry if we caused a bit of alarm."

"I'm not," countered George, who immediately changed it to "I'm really sorry, totally sorry," when Mrs. Weasley glowered at him.

"Well you two better just stop making noise," warned Kingsley. "Another false alarm and wards be damned, I'll personally kill the lotta you."

"Language!" exclaimed Mrs. Weasley.

"English!" chorused the twins, who ducked out of the room when their mother took a step towards them.

"No more explosions, you two!" she warned. "And no using magic in the house! You're too young."

"Can we use it outside instead?" came the distant reply.

Kingsley nodded approvingly. He'd known the twins since they'd been born, because he'd been a friend of the family when Mrs. Weasley and Mr. Weasley had been at Hogwarts, and he'd even been there when the two had been born. Molly had gone into labour half-way through an Order meeting stationed at their house and he still remembered clearly the horrified expressions on several faces as they scrambled to call healers and midwives. The twins had been one month overdue and if it hadn't been for Professor McGonagall taking immediate control over the situation, things might not have gone so well.

"Those boys sure have grown," he said quietly as he watched Ron, Fred, George and Harry wrestle in the kitchen. Harry was screaming for the twins to get Ron's socks away from his face – Fred had them held in a tong, had a cloth pressed to his face and was trying to attack him with it, while Ron was struggling with George as he tried to get his clothing back.

"No they haven't," huffed Mrs. Weasley, ready to fly in and rescue Harry.

"_Gerroff!_" shouted Ron and George tried dragging him into a headlock. Harry slithered away from the twins and out the back door – George and Fred barrelled after him, ignoring Ron as he scrambled over the chairs and tried to give chase.

The scuffle could be heard clear as day outside and as several members of the Order burst in, he waved for them to stand down. Mrs. Weasley shook her head and smiled, but then seemed to realise something, because she moved out of the house and started shouting something about medicine and someone relaxing.

Kingsley laughed as fireworks went off. Mrs. Weasley let out a shriek and the twins scrambled, running away and dragging a laughing Harry with them.

Sometimes they made him feel old, but this was one of the times where, as he ordered the others back into their positions, he definitely felt young again.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ x ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

"Honestly Ron, it's not our fault your socks caught fire."

"Yeah, besides, they should have been condemned long ago. You should be _thanking_ us."

Wielding bats and clad in their Beater uniform, Fred and George weaved around on the wind on one broomstick. Fred had leant his to Harry so that they could get some Quidditch practice in; George tampered with a pebble to fly around like the Golden Snitch so that he could catch it, and Fred experimented with a couple of boulders by casting unbreakable charms on them and trying to make them fly. The boulders wouldn't take off. They would jump a few feet into the air and then crash, leaving small pock marks in the ground. They were too heavy.

"Well we can't practice being Beaters just yet," sighed Fred. Harry zoomed by with his hand extended, laughing loudly. He'd been spending a lot of time with Ron, but the young Weasley had been dragged into the bath and ordered not to come out until he was squeaky clean. Usually Ron didn't want to get in the bath, but then they couldn't get him out of it.

"How about we try being Beating the Snitch instead?" supplied George.

"With both of us on the broom? Could be dangerous." There was a pause. Harry knew what was coming, but that still didn't prepare him enough.

"_...YEAHHH!"_

Harry lost sight of the 'Snitch' when he had to swerve out of the way, distracted by their gleeful howls. For a moment he looked fearful, but as the twins angled their broom up and took off after the 'Snitch', he gave chase.

George was behind Fred. Anyone else would have fallen from the broom already but they knew what the other was going to do before they even did it, which gave them the advantage. As they drew near, Harry tried to speed up and overtake them. He managed this, of course, because their broom was being weighed down.

"Lose some weight, fatty!" teased Fred, "You're slowing us down!"

"I'll give you fatty!" snapped George and the two started to wrestle then and there, about a hundred feet up from the ground. With bats in hand, they tried to whack each other over the head with it. The broom shook, lurched and began to look as though it were trying to shake them off.

"Look out!" cried George suddenly, and they both ducked. The 'Snitch' pelted into the back of Fred's head and started trying to knock them off of their broom, which didn't work at all. They swiped at it with the bats but, like the real Snitch, the pebble danced far too quickly for them to hit. They could both see it whizzing around their heads like a mindless, annoying insect, except this mindless, annoying insect didn't buzz, live and was about to freeze in mid-air.

"Bloody thing," grumbled George, rubbing at his nose. Fred had accidentally hit him with his bat trying to get the pebble away from them. The burning in his chest suddenly grew fiercer and his hand felt eerily cold. He was surprised to see that, as he examined the tingling sensation on his skin, the bat had frozen to his fingers.

Despite the heat, his breath was punctuated with a glittering plume of frost that shimmered beneath the sunlight. The pebble looked more like a hailstone and no longer flew around, instead hovering for a few seconds before it plummeted and almost beamed Mr. Weasley on the head.

Harry was being called down.

Everyone landed, but George couldn't dislodge the bat from his fingers. The ice looked to be an inch thick and crept up the sides like a shining hand guard. Fred dismounted and turned, and his own bat seemed a little singed.

"Not coming off?" asked Fred.

George shook his hand away from him experimentally. He knew it wasn't going to do anything, he just wanted to shake it – let's face it, when would he ever get this opportunity again? The ice didn't hurt, which he found strange, and his body temperature had dropped to a dangerously low level... but why couldn't he feel it?

Fred was sweating profusely and he looked quite overheated. His breathing was normal but it was so hot it was like scalding water, he could actually see the air change with each exhale.

Focusing on his hand, he managed to thaw the ice and gazed at his palm. He didn't even have to think of anything; a fiery blue wisp appeared there. Fred reached out to touch it and recoiled with a gasp. There was a cold burn on the palm of his hand, surrounded by a layer of coal that looked like frostbite. Cringing in pain, Fred shuddered and moved his other hand to hover over it, creating a small fireball that started to chase away the frostbite in the wound. The burn would heal in time.

"How did we...?" they started at the same time, looking at themselves and each other.

It was only later when they noticed it as they were getting changed, stripping off their shirts (they hated any kind of shirt, and wearing them in general). On the center of their chests, just beneath their collar bone, was an odd marking that hadn't been there before, but they both had it...

It was a glowing wing-shaped symbol that they swore they'd seen before. They'd had to do an essay on different gods for their History of Magic, when they still did it – it looked like the wings on Hermes' shoes. On George it was turquoise, but on Fred it was crimson and it was flipped over and facing the other way, as if the two symbols somehow fitted together.

George felt compelled to touch it. Fred did the same. Suddenly they were seized by an overwhelming pain that made them both crumple to the floor and writhe, clawing at the carpet and groaning. Whatever it was, the symbol was growing out of their chests. They bit their bottom lips until they bled, trying desperately not to cry out in agony. For what felt like hours, they grabbed at each other, willing the pain to stop.

Eventually they regained enough of their senses to open their eyes. It was there, _in_ their bodies, and it felt like it had grown out of their bone. It had the same transparent look like hollowed out crystal, but there was something swirling inside of it, some sort of strange power.

Together they pushed themselves into a half-kneeling, half-reclining position, trying to catch their breath back. There were markings running all the way down their arms and legs, over their shoulders and chests, striping at their throats as if outlining something. In George they were turquoise, but on Fred they were crimson, like fire and ice.

"G- George..." stammered Fred, staring at something just beyond his shoulder. George had a pretty good feeling as to what he was looking at, because the same thing was attached to Fred.

"F- _Fred?_"

Wings. Crimson wings with reflections like charcoal, ridged in sweltering flame at the bone with ash rising like smoke. Fred could see on his twin... the same colour that matched his glowing eyes, the ice that had burned him earlier... turquoise wings, reflections of white, dropping flakes of snow down onto the floor, the wing-bone enveloped in a blistering blue flame that wasn't actually fire at all – it was ice.

They stared at each other for an eternity, taking in the other's appearance, trying to figure out what they _were, _what had happened, why, and if they could reverse it. Call it a hunch but they definitely didn't have wings, glowing markings or eyes, or balls in their chests when they woke up this morning.

"H- how...?"

"Boys, come on out – it's time for tea, and Dumbledore will be joining us!" Mrs. Weasley called in. There was a pause; she sniffed, "And if you're setting fire to something in there, I swear I'll beat you two ways to Sunday!"

"Shit!" they hissed, getting up. Neither had any clue as to how they could hide their wings. They were far too tall – their wings rose up high over their heads and the tips stretched down to their ankles, and they were half folded! How could they even control their wings? Were they just like using arms and legs?

"Out in a minute, mum!" called George, trying vainly to pull a jumper over his head. The wings protruding from his shoulder blades made it not just painful to raise his arms that high, but in his struggle he just about ripped it in half. "Fred – gimme a hand!"

"I'm a bit busy!" said Fred, wondering whether he could fold his wings up like paper. He was trying to do something but his wings wouldn't quite co-operate. "Bloody hell!"

"Boys!" Mr. Weasley called, this time from the bottom of the stairs.

"Hang _on!_" they shouted.

George ran for Fred, trying to make his wings seem as small and inconspicuous as possible. He struggled with them for a moment but couldn't squeeze them underneath the jumper he was trying to put on. Someone was coming up the stairs.

_"DAMNIT GEORGE THAT HURTS!"_

The two twins fell over each other as the door opened and Dumbledore lingered outside the room. They froze. _We're screwed, _came into mind, and they untangled quite aggressively and backed away from each other, wide-eyed. Dumbledore just looked at the ceiling, which was singed, and the floor, which was damp, and then at the twins with a bemused expression on his face. His blue eyes twinkled in amusement.

Fred and George looked at each other, taking shaky breaths, and then sighed with relief as they realised that the wings had gone – and they were no longer glowing. Their hands covered the wing-shaped orbs embedded in their chests.

"Having a party, are we?" said Dumbledore, smiling slyly.

"WHAT?" blurted Fred, clamping his hand over his mouth.

George was horrified. "I- we- ..._what?_"

A lone brow lifted towards his hairline and the twins paled. What he must be thinking hit them both like a ton of bricks. Both of them were shirtless, their hair and clothes ruffled and disturbed. Fred was sweating and flushed and George was shaking like there was a Dementor in the room.

Dumbledore chuckled and shook his head. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone. Be careful, won't you?"

Fred and George just continued to stare.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Well, best get downstairs before your mother gets impatient. I hear it's sausages and mash tonight."

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ x ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

The burning... it was getting worse. Fred drummed his fingers against the table as he hurriedly tried to get the dishes done as quickly as possible. As punishment for damaging their room – _their_ room, not hers, so why should she care? - Fred had been ordered to do the dishes without magic, and George had been sent to clean it up. However serving food and drinks for not just the family, but for Harry _and_ Dumbledore on top of that would take an ice age.

They were in a meeting. Fred could hear Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Harry and Dumbledore in the next room talking about adding extra security; Harry was going to stay with them for the rest of the summer and the wards were going to be set up as soon as possible.

"_...wards at Privet Drive have already fallen..."_

"_...need to ensure..."_

"_...lemon drop, dear boy?"_

Fred winced as his hand groped blindly in the soapy water. There were so many dishes still left to do and he needed to get to George, to talk to him, to reduce the distance between them. The markings were coming back, running over his knuckles, as if his veins were flowing with magic. To say he wasn't afraid would be stupid – he was terrified. What were they? Were they even human?

What happened if their mother found out?

"_...can't wash any of it out... mum's going to kill us."_

Fred dropped the cup he was washing. It smashed to the ground near his feet and he clutched his hand. A few seconds later, Mrs. Weasley peered over at him before hobbling over. "Honestly, you two can't do anything right today... Fred? What happened to your hand?"

Fred looked up at Mrs. Weasley and bit his lip. He tried to hide it but his mother grabbed his arm and looked at his injuries in disbelief. "How did you burn your hands this badly? Surely the water isn't that hot... oh, never mind that. Sit down while I clear this up and I'll patch it up quickly."

The voice he'd just heard... it wasn't his. Well it was, but it wasn't his trail of thought. It had sounded like George, but he was upstairs, wasn't he?

"_...as if this wasn't bad enough- bloody hell!"_

"_George?"_

Pause. _"...what... Fred?"_

"_You can hear me?!"_

"_Unless I've just sprouted a second personality. God, if I have turned bipolar..."_

"_That would be fun and all but this doesn't make any sense, George. What's happening to us?"_

"_Bit of a stupid question, innit?"_

"_...Yeah, guess it is. But hey, if we can read each other's minds-"_

"_-if? What do you think we're doing?"_

"_-shut up, git. I'm just saying that we can have a lot of fun with this. Imagine what we can do!"_

"_...hahaha!"_

"_You're mental."_

"_I'm your twin, brainiac. If I'm mental, you're mental."_

"_Prat."_

"_Tosser."_

"_Wanker."_

"There we go," said Mrs. Weasley as her healing charm dealt with the burn. "Rest your hands for a few hours and they'll be good as new."

"But the dishes-" Fred started.

Mrs. Weasley sighed. "Ginny can do them. But don't think you're getting out of trashing your room. Go and help Ron search for gnomes in the garden."

Ron, contrary to what Mrs. Weasley believed he was doing, was lounging around rather than looking for gnomes. It was pretty obvious that there were some taking up residence again; he could see minute flickers in burrows and hear very quiet squeaks from various places.

"_George? You hear me?"_

"_Yeah?"_

"_Hey. Meet me in the forest at midnight. We need to figure out what we're going to do next."_

"_'Kay."_

"Ron, get off your butt and help de-gnome the garden," said Fred. Mrs. Weasley had told him to rest his hands but they felt better already. Reaching into one of the old burrows, he plucked out a gnome by the hat and swung it over his head... and hurled it so far that its scream faded long before the speck dipped beneath the horizon.

"...You threw that... woah. Remind me never to get on your bad side."

"Too bad, ickle Ronniekins. You're already on it." Grinned Fred.


	4. Sky High

Later that night, George followed the path they'd taken before and wound up at the stream. It was pitch black so he walked cautiously with his hand out in front of him. He walked, staring intently at the black trail in what he saw as a field of white, dotted with the odd detail or 'shadow'. He could see where Fred had walked, follow the remnants of warmth until he reached the fallen tree, but when he stood before the stream, he couldn't see his twin.

"Fred?"

"Here," said Fred, and he jogged out of the foliage with a fireball in one hand and faded lines racing along his skin. "Sorry about that – thought I saw something. Did you walk here without a torch?"

"Yeah," said George modestly. Sitting down beside the river, he dipped his hand in. "I followed your heat signature... I tried to think of a way to see through the dark – I'm not very good at fire spells, and my eyes started feeling odd. I rubbed them and then I just saw... well, _it._"

"I wonder if I can do that," Fred mumbled. "You just thought about it, right?"

"Yeah."

Fred stared straight ahead, trying to get his vision to change. After a moment he blinked; nothing happened, but something felt weird. "Didn't work," he said.

"Well they're glowing again," George observed. He coaxed his shoulder-length hair behind one ear and lifted his chin. "Give it a while and then try again. Want to see what else we can do?"

After about an hour they discovered that they could manipulate the temperature of their bodies to some extent. Fred could handle fire without getting burned. Now it was George's turn to try.

"Just focus on lowering your body temperature," said Fred. "You did it earlier, remember? You held a blue ball in your hand; it was sorta like ice-fire."

George snorted and held his palm out in front of him, staring at it, willing the spark to burst forth. His eyes were glowing; the lines blazing through his skin, his face a mask of concentration. Fred seemed to be able to do it easily, and George wanted to prove that he could too.

As he stared at his outstretched hand, a chill began to fall around the clearing. There was a snap as George's finger twitched and a thin gathering of black ice cracked beneath his heels, but the spark wouldn't come. Taking a breath, he decided to try something else; he tried picturing it instead of willing it, imagined it growing, dancing, on his hand. Mist flowed out from his mouth and was snatched away from the wind. When he finally paused to try and look at whether it had worked or not, he was delighted to see a swirling blue candle flame hovering on his palm, beginning to stretch out towards his fingers a little bit.

Fred was grinning at him. George laughed and tossed it from one hand to the other experimentally, his features lit up by the blue flame. Curiously, he rolled it onto the back of his hand, performed a trick and then dropped it into the water. The stream froze instantly, and as more water came surging down, gliding over the ice, it reflected the moonlight like silver.

"_Wicked."_

George smiled, and then it fell from his face. Fred, his hands engulfed in flame, tilted his head inquisitively. "George?"

"Fred, what... what if they find out?" George asked, genuinely fearful. "What if they find out and they don't love us any more? What if they find out and we get kicked out of the family? What if we _hurt_ someone?"

Fred strode over to his twin and grabbed his hand, holding it tightly, intertwining their fingers and squeezing his shoulder. "George, that wouldn't happen," he said gently. "Mum wouldn't kick us out because of... whatever this is."

"But say it did – say we did screw up... or make a mistake..." George trailed off.

"Georgie, we're... okay, we might not be all human, but everyone makes mistakes from time to time. And if mum did disown us... we've got each other, and I'd never leave you. _Never."_

George gazed into Fred's eyes, searching. Fred had never lied to him – he knew he could trust his twin. In the sixteen years they'd been alive they had not once argued or betrayed each other. They were as close as close could be and then some. When he they were together they were their best: strong, confident, loyal, fun-loving, and something... left, when they were apart. There was a hollow hole that couldn't be filled.

Screw the rules of manliness. George took a step forward and wrapped his arms around Fred, burying his nose in the crook of his throat, breathing a quiet sigh. Fred's body was warm; a pair of arms wrapped around his waist and pulled him closer.

It was this time that George's sensitivity to emotion made him hate himself.

"What are we, Freddie? What are we?"

"I don't know, Georgie, but we'll find out."

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ x ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

They met there every night for the next week, learning as much as they could, trying to figure out what they could and couldn't do. For instance, they discovered that Fred couldn't perform spells that dealt with ice or frost, and George couldn't cast anything related to fire or heat. It was as if they had their own element; they both had a strength in water-based spells, but Fred couldn't cool water and George couldn't heat it.

Since that fateful day with Dumbledore, the twins had kept it a tightly guarded secret, speaking through their mental link when they needed to, trying to think up new ideas as to how they could use their powers without arousing suspicion.

"Since we were sort-of in danger when it first happened, maybe there's something to do with emotion," suggested Fred.

George had already thought of this, being the 'brains' of the duo. As soon as Fred confirmed his idea, he began to think – what would rile him up enough? What would trigger the power within them to come forward? And was there a limit to their power?

He pictured Malfoy bullying Harry about the incident with the Dementors, hearing them laughing at him from the Slytherin table, feeling a surge of anger that they would dare to insult the young boy for something that he couldn't control, when Draco had burst into their compartment and taken shelter with them, whimpering like a kicked puppy.

George couldn't stand compulsive liars. It was a pet hate of his. Malfoy was nothing but a coward and a bully who sought pleasure in other peoples' suffering. He was biased, promoting pure-blood discrimination... self interested, selfish, arrogant...

"George? George!"

George blinked and stared at Fred's startled expression, and then looked himself over. Sublimation was streaming from his body like a wild aural mist. Power surrounded him like a thick shroud of fog and his hands were blazing... and there were turquoise wings protruding from his back, folded against his body, the fire rising higher as it reached the bend where the wing folded back.

Fred was panting, as if the power emanating from George was knocking the breath from his lungs. "Georgie, settle down! Don't blow up on me..."

George focused on minimising the flow of power he was releasing and brought it down quite quickly. His wings were magnificent; snow-dust sprinkling down and littering the ground in white. They ached for him to stretch them – he wondered if he could fly, but right now he needed to concentrate on keeping his energy levels down. If he had been glowing as brightly as he'd thought, they might have been seen.

"I'm okay," he breathed quietly. "Sorry, I just wanted to test something out. We were right; it's fuelled by emotion."

Fred scoffed nervously. "Ya think? What'd you think about to piss yourself off that much, Georgie?"

"Malfoy and the Dementors," said George simply. "I just remembered him going on about Harry fainting when he was about to keel over himself."

"Yeah, I can see how that would get you mad," said Fred. "Well then, give it a go. Let's see if you can fly."

George stepped back and took a bracing breath. It was as if his brain had rewired itself since the last week. Though awkward and choppy, he managed to slowly move his wings until they were mostly extended, stretching them as far as they would go. Having only flown on the broom before, he was unsure as to how to actually fly – it wasn't like they had researched birds or anything. They didn't just flap their wings and take off, surely? It couldn't be as simple as that.

He couldn't stop and be afraid that he would crash into a tree; he would never get anywhere giving into his fears. If he did fall, Fred would be there to catch him.

"One... two..." Fred counted, and at three George shot forward and jumped as high as he could – which was surprisingly high. It felt like he had more strength in his legs. He flapped his wings and leaned forward, praying that he wouldn't fall into the stream and embarrass himself. Fred shouted out in alarm as George veered towards a few tall pines and he heard him through their mental link has he vanished between the branches. Closing his eyes, he readied himself for impact...

But it never came. George peeked hesitantly at first, not really sure he wanted to see the ground rushing up to greet him, but he wasn't even falling any more. In fact he was flying, and it wasn't as difficult as he'd made it out to be. It was rather like riding on a broom, except it felt... freer. Unrestricted. He didn't have to worry about losing his balance, being knocked off his broom...

Each flap was like a heartbeat in his ears, sending jolts of excitement through his body. George was a natural thrill seeker and daredevil – they both were, but this was on a whole new level. He let out a laugh so loud he was sure the others back at the Burrow could have heard it – he could see their house off in the distance, standing proud against the horizon. They had been deep into the forest, but now... now they were _above_ it!

Leaning to the side, he steered carefully around and tried to figure out the spot where he'd left Fred – or he would have, because moments later a red blur shot into the sky, just as wobbly as he had been at first. They both felt like fledglings just leaving the nest, except there was no mother bird to teach them how to fly. This was trial and error, just like their inventions. There was nobody to teach them and they loved it.

"George, look-a'-me!" called Fred, his eyes beaming. His wings were on fire, literally, and he rolled in mid-flight like some sort of muggle plane.

George scoffed and flew up higher. If this was just like riding a broom, he could perform similar tricks, right? He dove into a Wronski Feint, pulling up at the last second and soaring over the treetops.

"You prat!" snapped Fred jubilantly as he flew just above his twin, looking down on him. "You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

"I know," said George wryly. "Care to try and outdo me?"

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ x ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Nobody could get any sleep when Mr. Weasley arrived home with an enthralling announcement: he had obtained tickets to the Quidditch World Cup, and everyone – including Harry and Hermione, who was arriving for a visit – was invited to attend.

Fred had never been particularly calm; he riled easily, especially when it came to Quidditch. He had an infamously short fuse, and that was going to be a bad thing, especially since he was going to have to put up with Malfoy (who was bound to be there) and other irritating people. How was he meant to cope with this? If anyone found out... although he had reassured his twin, George, it was just because seeing George conflicted was painful. It had been what he had wanted to hear, but he hadn't actually thought any more of it. That was George's department.

Their first reaction to the news had been great joy; they'd cheered, danced about the room and nearly – _nearly –_ set off fireworks in the living room, had Molly not chased them out of the house before they could light the fuses. They were preparing for the arduous journey to the Colosseum where it would take place, which they would begin in three days time. However this also posed a problem: they were too young to Apparate, so they would have to go by Portkey.

Now, lying in bed, he couldn't settle himself down long enough to doze. He was too concerned about setting something off – was this a bad idea? Could he fake illness and get them to go without him?

"_This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity." _George said through their Link, which made him flinch guiltily. _"It'll be alright, Fred. Trust me. Don't run from it – embrace it. I'll be there to keep you calm should you need me."_

"_I will always need you," _said Fred, escaping his bed and joining George in his. _"I'm just a bit worried. We'll be alright."_

"_Recently your emotions have been telling me otherwise," _whispered George. Fred felt his head turn slightly to look at him. _"You're just as nervous as I am, if not more. We can do this. You said it yourself. We just need a back-up plan. But we have time to think about it, so let's get some sleep. We have a lot of preparing to do in the morning."_

Fred let out a breath he hadn't been aware he'd been holding. He could always count on George to keep the level head and plan – Fred was the practical twin, who acted before thinking. Without George as his anchor...

"_Georgie?"_

"_Hmmm?"_

"_...uh, no, it's nothing. Don't worry about it."_

Fred closed his eyes and imagined falling into oblivion, which wasn't far from what he wanted to do at that moment. With one arm wrapped around George's broad shoulders, he was certain that nothing could really go wrong. He had his twin and they would face any challenge and every struggle head-on, together. A few minutes later, he was teetering on the line of unconsciousness.

"_Freddie?"_

"_...Yeah?"_

George shuffled closer and smiled into his shoulder. _"I love you too, bro."_

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ x ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

When they finally arrived via portkey and their feet touched British soil, they all tumbled to the ground, and the twins laughed at the jumbling mess of limbs. Fred was half-sprawled on top of George, Hermione had somehow managed to weave herself around them both and was blushing furiously into Fred's stomach, Ron was flat out over Harry, whose leg was- "_Hey!_ Whose leg is that?"

"Sorry!" yelped Harry, trying to disentangle himself.

Fred and George, despite being near the bottom of the pile, managed to wiggle out in a flurry of limbs, dragging a dishevelled Hermione with them. They were still laughing as they courteously pulled the bright witch to her feet.

"Don't worry," said Fred.

"We know you love us," finished George.

Hermione gawked for a moment and scurried away towards Mr. Weasley. Ron and Harry took an extra moment to get back on their feet, mainly because Ron was trying to break Harry's leg moving it in a way it didn't bend. When they finally got off the ground, Ron brushed himself off while Harry approached the twins.

"Yes, Harry?"

"Who are they?" asked Harry, pointing at two wizards that they hadn't noticed before.

One of them was holding a large gold watch, the other held a thick roll of parchment and a quill, but the parchment was out of line, wind-blown, and looked about ready to fall out of his hands and roll all the way back to the Ministry of Magic. They were both dressed as Muggles, but looked like they'd just come out of a pub, drunk out of their minds. The man with the watch had a tweed suit with thigh-length galoshes; his colleague, a kilt and a poncho. Fred and George weren't experts on muggle attire, but even they knew it wasn't meant to go like that.

"_He's meant to be wearing a frilly pink tutu, it'd match the kilt quite well."_

"Morning, Basil," said Mr. Weasley, passing him the ragged old boot that they had used as a portkey.

Fred zoned out while they talked, and only walked when George started guiding him after the others. A thought had just occurred to him.

"_George, how much have we got in our savings? We brought it all, didn't we?"_

"_Yeah, thirty-seven Galleons, fifteen Sickles, three Knuts." _replied George. _"Thinking about putting in a bet?"_

"_Yeah. Should we?"_

"_We get more if we bet more, but this is our life savings, Fred. We could lose it all just as easily."_

"_I think-"_

"Don't do it," whispered a voice from behind them. Fred and George jumped, startled, and broke apart for Harry to catch up.

"Excuse us?"

"You're thinking about betting on the match, aren't you?" said Harry, looking at them apprehensively. "Trust me, don't do it. There are a lot of conmen hanging around here."

"How do you know?" George asked suspiciously.

Harry shook his head. "Just trust me. And _don't_ trust Bagman."

Fred cast a glance at George and watched him scurry away, up towards Ron and Hermione, who looked like they were arguing over something. Disturbed by Harry's warning, they didn't speak until they had started setting up the tent, and then they sent thoughts to each other as they worked

"_What was that all about?" _asked George. _"You'd think he knows from experience or something..."_

"_I have no idea," _said Fred, shaking his head to get his hair out of his face.

"Fred – George – over here, gimme a hand, will you?" called Mr. Weasley.

The twins abandoned sorting out the tent equipment into what looked the same and what didn't, to help their father erect one of the tents. It had two main support beams, two long metal poles, that needed to be pulled up and held up while the rest of the tent was pinned into the ground.

Hermione and Harry were helping Mr. Weasley figure out where the little loops were that were hammered into the ground. Ron was... somewhere. They thought they heard him scrabbling around near the back of the tent, trying to identify the inner workings of a zip, but they had no idea.

They were half way through erecting the tent when Mr. Weasley became overexcited with the mallet and hit it so hard that the rest of the tent collapsed in on them. They let out twin cries of annoyance as they began to drown in the fabric.

"Bloody hell, dad!"

"Fred, get your hand off my neck!"

"Sorry George- wait a minute, that's _my_ neck! And watch what you're doing with your leg!"

"That's _your_ leg! Kick me there again, I _swear_..."

Inwardly they were both grinning. They weren't really stuck, they were just putting on a show.

"Hold on, boys!" Mr. Weasley said. "I'll get you out in a jiffy." But without a wand, this was bound to go wrong. He knelt down and lifted up the cover, crawling inside himself. As they froze and felt the tent begin to push and pull over them, they crawled out, ending up near Hermione, and watched with gleeful expressions as their father tried to find them in the mess.

"Hold on, I think I've got you!" said Mr. Weasley, groping for one of the poles.

Fred and George broke out into muffled laughter. Hermione, although faintly amused at the man-sized worm circling around the tent, hurried over and pulled it over, freeing him.

"Ah, thank you, Hermione. And you got them out, too. Well done."

The twins laughed so hard they nearly cried.


	5. Dark Mark

"Don't tell your mother I've been gambling," Mr. Weasley implored Fred and George as they made their way slowly down the purple-carpeted stairs.

"Don't worry, Dad," said Fred gleefully, his mind still buzzing over the game. "As long as you don't tell mum we spiked the snacks with joke sweets."

Mr. Weasley stared at them openly, but after a moment of thought, he just shook his head. "Deal." Gambling was worse anyway.

George was grinning, talking animatedly. Nothing bad had happened – they hadn't been found out. Fred had remained very calm with George there, hands brushing each other as they watched the game. Their chests had burned a few odd times but it hadn't been cause for alarm; he suspected that it was because Fred had been quite tense, and so had he, especially when watching that Wronski Feint that Krum pulled off.

The crowds flooding out of the stadium and heading back towards their camp-sites separated several of the Weasleys every now and then, so the walk back was littered with the group having to stop at the side and wait for everyone to regroup as not to get lost or dragged away. They retraced their steps down the lantern-lit path, flanked by tents, and leprechauns kept shooting over their heads, swinging their lanterns around.

Ireland had won, but Krum had caught the snitch.

Nobody felt like sleeping at all when they finally reached the tents, given that the noise around them was akin to thunder. They gathered around the small table in the tent that the boys all slept in, which was slightly bigger than the girls' tent. Ginny and Hermione helped to pull up chairs while Fred and George went off to make some hot chocolate for them all to wind down with.

"See?" George smiled, dumping several scoops of chocolate powder into various cups. "Everything turned out okay. No accidental magic, nobody found out."

"Yeah, but if we'd have made our bet, we would have won a lot of money," grumbled Fred.

They'd taken Harry's advice and not done the bet when Bagman had come in, though their father had placed a bet of a Galleon that Ireland would win, and now he had two shiny Galleons. What would they have walked away with, had they actually made the bet?

George placed himself between Fred and the rest of the group as Fred made a move to boil the water by hand. It heated up a lot quicker than if they'd have just placed it on a camp fire and waited, though it would need some time to cool down. When George was handed his cup, he breathed a short burst of frost onto it, making it deliciously lukewarm instead of it'll-melt-your-face hot.

"_Freddie, imagine us flying in the World Cup someday," _said George, sipping at his cocoa, listening to everyone else argue half-heartedly about the match. _"The Weasley Twins..."_

"_We'd get banned from the game," _laughed Fred, mimicking his twin's slouching position, spreading his legs and tapping his foot against the floor. _"For 'accidentally' setting off Whiz-bangs half way through the match."_

George snorted into his cup and eyed Fred. _"That new one we've been working on... maybe we could actually do that during Quidditch practice when we get back to Hogwarts. We charm them to fly after whoever first starts to nag – or better yet, Malfoy when the Slytherins try their daily effort to steal the pitch from under us. Maybe then they'll think twice about it."_

Fred's eyes gleamed in the soft firelight. _"Georgie, you're a genius."_

"Alright everyone, it's time for bed," announced Mr. Weasley. The twins glanced over to him and smiled slightly as he gently picked up Ginny, who had fallen asleep at the table. Hermione and Mr. Weasley, carrying Ginny, slipped out of the tent and towards the girls'.

"He could have woken her up," said Fred quietly.

George smiled. "Yeah, but he hardly gets to spend time with us, with work and all. I think it's sweet."

"Yeah. Well, let's get ready for bed. Dibs on-"

"Top bunk!" George snickered.

"Hey, I called it first!"

"I said it first."

Their wrestling match was cut short when Mr. Weasley returned to the tent and ordered them to stop messing around. In the end it was George who got the top bunk, but they stayed up even later, listening to the others soft snores while they quietly continued to talk about their ideas.

They must have fallen asleep at some point; somehow George had fallen onto the floor and wound up in Fred's bunk. George was such a heavy sleeper that he knew that when he'd hit the floor, his father must have tried to hoist him back up into the top bunk, but settled on just making them share the bed. When Fred was suddenly kicking him awake, he was nuzzled into his twin's chest beneath the covers, moaning, "Five more minutes..."

"George, quick! Something's going on outside!"

They raced outside, still in their nightwear. The noises in the campsite had changed; there was no longer singing, but screaming, and the rampant stomping of feet as people headed towards the forest. Gunshots filled the air with flashes of light – spells, George realised – and there were jeering roars of laughter, drunken howls, and a blinding venom-green light. To the twins' sharpened eyesight, they could see everything, and it was sickening.

Witches and Wizards cloaked in black like shadows marched across the field, their faces masked but eyes burning with malicious glee. Their wand arms were pointed up; four struggling figures were being transfigured and twisted into grotesque shapes by several spells at once, like marionettes, except two of the figures were very, very small.

George's long fuse was lit. Fred was suddenly dragging him away, trying to break his glare away from the children spinning around in the air.

"We're going to help the Ministry!" Mr. Weasley shouted over the noise, rolling back his sleeves, brandishing his wand. Bill, Charlie and Percy were already sprinting toward the oncoming marchers. "You lot – get into the woods, and stick together. I'll come and fetch you when we've sorted this out!" Then he tore after the three oldest Weasleys, towards the riot.

George sensed a fraction of the shadow tear after them, obviously recognising their ginger hair, as they herded their frightened friends towards the forest. Hermione was struggling to keep up, stumbling over the fabric of her nightwear, and Ginny was dragging a protesting Ron, who swore he could run perfectly well on his own.

"Keep going!" shouted George, slithering through the countless other shadows that were charging into the forest. They ran for several long minutes, going deeper and deeper in. He saw Ron trip, heard a loud bang, and whirled around as the relentless masked wizards stormed through the trees.

Finally they were too tired to run any more. Fred kept pushing them, urging them to go, but they were out of breath and leaning against the trees, half-kneeling over, red in the face. George could hear the crunch of branches; his vision had switched to thermal sometime during the chase, so he could see patches of black footprints over the white ocean around them. Black patches flickered all around them and he gasped.

"Fred – they're surrounding us!"

"Has anyone got their wand?" demanded Fred, rounding on the group. Only Hermione produced her wand. Angry and a little bit afraid, he hissed, "You should _all_ have your wands with you – at all times! Hermione, use _Lumos_ – lead them back around."

"What about you?" Hermione asked breathlessly.

George smiled at Fred as the black shadows came nearer. "We'll hold them back. Don't worry, we'll be okay. _Go!_"

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ x ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

As Hermione led her group back around, heading back towards the fields, to safety, the twins stood back to back with a circle of jeering wizards facing them. There were about ten of them, paced sparingly, with just enough room to escape should they need to make a run for it. However there was a determined look in their eyes that told the laughing rioters everything: they were not going to run.

But what was not obvious, as their eyes began to glow, was that they were probably not going to survive either.

"Picking on kids... big mistake," George seethed. The crystal orb in his chest felt like a blizzard was raging inside of it. He felt his wings begin to appear; the wizards around them looking at them with growing unease.

"If our family is hurt because of this, we swear, death will be the least on your minds." Fred swore. His hands burst into flames; his wings were already blazing, and the power that surged through them both was both awe-inspiring and frightening.

"Nice show, boys," said one voice; the voice of what they silently agreed was the ringleader of the group. "I don't know what kind of magic trick this is, but taking on nine of us? You're insane."

"We're insane?" whispered George. The markings began to burn down his arms, down the fronts of his legs They chuckled.

"You have no idea."

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ x ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

"Dad, what's going on?" called Charlie through the darkness. "None of them are back yet- you're all okay!"

Mr. Weasley walked stiffly towards the tent. Ron, Harry and Ginny were walking behind him, covered in cuts, scrapes and rashes from having to run through nettles and other things on their trip through the forest. Harry had a nasty cut beneath his right eye and he was limping.

"The twins aren't back yet?" echoed Mr. Weasley. "What about Hermione?"

Charlie shook his head. "Your lot is the first I've seen. But-"

"FIRE!" someone shouted. "THE FOREST IS ON FIRE!"

Mr. Weasley felt a chill run through his chest. The horizon was alight with flames that reached high into the sky. There was a crack of what sounded like thunder; a flash of something sharp a few meters to the right of it, like a spell. Someone was fighting.

"Stay here!" he shouted, casting a _Patronus_. A weasel burst forth from his wand and scampered away from the forest across the field. "I'm going to find them."

"I've worked with dragons long enough to know what to do in a fire," said Charlie Weasley as he tied back his hair and pulled on a scarf. "I'm coming with you."

As they ran towards the forest, the fading words of Charlie were, "_Aqua Eructo produces water..."_

The stench of smoke was overpowering as they reached the flames. The branches were glowing and long shadows strewn about the ground made it difficult to walk without tripping over a branch or stumbling into a ditch. Charlie pressed close and Mr. Weasley felt something wrap around his throat and over his mouth.

"Trust me!" Charlie tied it over his face. "You don't want to be breathing in the smoke. It's toxic."

"Fred! George! Hermione!" the two began shouting, pointing their wands and attempting to extinguish some of the flames. The fire was vicious and persistent – every time they sprayed a jet of water at it, trying to push it down, it seemed to react by flaring even higher and with even more tenacity. If either of the twins died tonight, Molly was going to scream the house down. The last thing they'd done was have an argument – Fred and George not studying, not getting enough O.W.L.S...

"Father!" Charlie called suddenly, shielding his face from a burning branch as it fell near his face. "I think I see something!"

They inched their way forward, avoiding fire until Arthur slipped on a shard of ice. The flames hadn't yet reached the edge of the branch, so Charlie could reach up and snatch the piece of fabric that the branch had snagged. It was a piece of robe from one of the rioters that had chased the twins into the forest. They followed it, looking through the fire to see if they could spot either of the twins, but their eyes were stinging and watering.

Mr. Weasley lost sight of Charlie for a moment. Fearing that he'd lost yet another of his sons, he shouted out their names again – but this time, he heard a faint response.

"_Fianto Duri!" _Charlie shouted distantly. Arthur followed the sound of the voice and came to a small, narrow path. Hermione was kneeling on the ground, her hair singed and face smudged with soot. She had a shield charm erected around herself, the shield itself was being given extra strength through Charlie's incantation, but she was covered in burns and sobbing, looking terrified.

"Where are the twins?" Mr. Weasley could barely hear himself over the roaring fire.

Hermione said something that was drowned out, but she shakily pointed further along the path. Charlie motioned to him to stay with the young student, and he vanished along the path.

Charlie had worked with fire long enough to respect it. The dragons he worked with were often aggressive, especially around breeding season, and the young ones often had trouble controlling their ability to spit fireballs. Contrary to belief, fire was not an element of destruction – it was an element of life, for without warmth plants would not grow and most things would not survive. As he charged through the foliage and blasted away the smoke, he caught sight of the twins standing over something. They were staring down at it, and as he drew nearer, at him, and there was something in their eyes that frightened him.

"Fred! George!"

"We're okay," said Fred calmly, glancing at George, who nodded. The two looked relatively unharmed aside from a few scratches on their cheeks, and blood running down from their shoulder blades. They'd both lost their shirts, but that was nothing compared to what Charlie saw at their feet.

Men. Men so badly burned that their flesh had been blown away. There were some frozen to the spot, covered in ice that turned their skin black and severely frostbitten, and others just a mass of black, crumbling bone. The smell of rancid smoke had been replied by the stench of burning flesh and it took all of Charlie's self control not to throw up. From the pools of vomit nearby, the twins hadn't been so lucky. It was then that Charlie noticed that half of the path was covered in frost and ice, and that there was no fire anywhere to be seen. As he looked back, it seemed to have been extinguished.

"Did you... did you do this?"

George shrugged impassively. "They gave us no choice. They would have killed her."

"Her?"

"Hermione," replied Fred simply. "We told her to run, but..."

"Boys! We need to..." Arthur came running up, and his reaction was nothing less than horror at the scene before him.

"We need to get out of here," said Charlie. "Dad, can you..."

Arthur was staring from the bodies to the twins, trying to make sense of the situation. "You... is this... _how?_"

"Magic," they said in unison, wiggling their fingers. "Let's get out of here in case the fire starts up again."

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ x ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Fred and George sat silently in the waiting room, just staring ahead at the clock as it ticked and changed with the passing of each second. Charlie sat beside them, leaning forward so his elbows touched his knees, searching their expressions for signs of... of _anything._ Since they'd been found in the forest, standing over bodies, they hadn't said anything or left the others side. They were known to stay side-by-side but this felt unnatural. They seemed to be having some sort of conversation through pure body language.

Fred would shift, George would react to that. George would tap his fingers against the arm on the chair, Fred would rock his head as if he were listening to music, or tap his foot in a similar rhythm, but they would start at the same time. Those were the simple things; discomfort, well... Charlie had been staring at them for about fifteen minutes unerringly.

But then there were flashes of fear or anger in Fred's eyes, completely spontaneous, and George, without even meeting his gaze, would move his wrist so their hands brushed. George would shiver or fold one leg restlessly and Fred would glance his way and smile briefly, his eyes flicking over to check he was okay. Eventually George turned his head to stare at the watch on Charlie's wrist and Fred slouched in his chair and sighed, putting one hand over his face so that the curtains of hair fell forward and hid him from the world.

The twins were not meant to be quiet. The twins were _never_ quiet. If anything the twins would be setting off fireworks or bewitching chairs to dance, something to keep them occupied – they often got bored of doing something in the span it took Charlie to fold a piece of paper. They were just sitting there silently and... thinking.

Perhaps they were just in shock from being caught up in the fire and carnage a few hours before... or not. No, Charlie knew what happened when the twins got nervous. They lashed out, did something to take their minds off of it. They pulled pranks, caused a ruckus, got people to notice them so they had a reason to act the way they did... but nothing like this.

The look in their eyes still haunted him. When he'd reached them, he had been expecting them to be relieved, to have run over to him and been thankful that their elder brother was the one to find them. But rather than that, they had just stood there in mutual silence, numb to everything, and when they had looked up at him... one of them had looked furious, but the other had just regarded him coldly. There had been the joke there about magic when Mr. Weasley had arrived but it had been so heavy that it had fallen through the tension like a chain weighed down with boulders. It hadn't been right.

"Are you two okay?" he asked gently, offering a smile that didn't reach his eyes, that begged them to say something. Anything.

George looked up. They both looked tired. After a few seconds Fred did too, but he avoided meeting Charlie's eyes. Was that fear he'd caught a glimpse of?

"We just want to get some sleep," replied George quietly, his voice dry. "It's been a long night."

Charlie looked at his watch and bit the inside of his lip. They'd been up all night and the twins never fared well without sleep. He nodded slowly, unsure of what to say. Their father would be along soon, probably with their mother too, who would have heard about the World Cup from the newspaper – or from gossip. For her sake, Charlie prayed that it was neither, and that Mr. Weasley had paused in his Ministry duties to inform her what had happened.

"Is Hermione going to be okay?" asked Fred gently, looking at George, but Charlie got the distinct feeling that the question was directed at him and not the twin. After all, how could George know? He was more surprised that Fred had said anything, because he had been muted since they'd arrived at St. Mungos Hospital. They'd been waiting a while – other people had got caught in the forest fire and hadn't been so lucky, and some people had been hit by curses and hexes when the rioters had...

"She was burned pretty badly, I won't lie to you. But she was conscious and breathing when we found her, and performing pretty powerful magic." Charlie explained. "I think she'll be okay. Might have a sore throat for a couple of days though."

Fred nodded gloomily and sighed. "Good."

"We told her to run, but..." George trailed away, shaking his head. "We didn't mean it."

Charlie leaned forward, intrigued and concerned. "Didn't mean what?" he asked softly. The twins fell silent. "I won't be angry. Please... tell me?"

Fred looked at George. Again there was some sort of unspoken communication. George nodded and sighed.

"We led them into the forest. We'd been running for ages, they needed a rest, but they were chasing us... so we sent Hermione on ahead, told her to double back around."

"She was the only one who'd brought her wand," intoned Fred. "We thought it would be best, especially since she knows more spells... so we hung back, waited for them to come. They surrounded us not too far away from where you found us."

"Those men, they were Death Eaters," said Charlie.

"We know," said George. "They told us. Anyway, we wanted to give the others time to get away, so we tried to hold them off... they wouldn't listen to us when we told them to just back off and leave us alone."

"A fight broke out," said Fred. "We fought them, it got out of hand... the forest caught fire – I didn't mean it, it just..."

"You used the spell that set the forest on fire?" whispered Charlie. Fred averted his gaze. "It's okay, accidents happen."

George shook his head – an action that Charlie noted. "People got hurt," he said. "People that would have been okay if we hadn't..."

"Hermione's injuries are because of something I did. I was trying to protect her – they would have killed her. But I didn't have enough control. We thought she'd gone back to camp, we didn't expect her to be where she was."

"It was an accident," Charlie said, a waist-length strand of fiery hair falling off of his shoulder. "You make a mistake and you put it right – you tried putting out the fire and you protected Hermione from getting hurt. Not many would have stayed behind to fend off so many Death Eaters. You two really are something."

"Yeah, _something_," mumbled Fred.

"Dad was just surprised," Charlie went on calmly. "We both expected you both to either be injured or lost, not standing calmly in the middle of a fire. He'll get over it, you'll see. Anyway, you two look like death incarnate, so do us all a favour and lie down. I'll wake you when it's time to go. Mum should be here soon anyway, once she's dealt with Ronald."

"Ron?" asked the twins.

Charlie smiled. "Dad caught him gambling with Bagman. Bet that Krum would catch the snitch and Bulgaria would win."

"Well he did, didn't he?" said George.

"But Bulgaria didn't win," Fred pointed out. "How much did he lose?"

"About five Galleons. Problem is that he swiped it from your savings while dad had his back turned – thought he could get away with taking some since he figured he would earn twice as much back. To sum it up, he pretty much stole your money... which I picked up from the tent, by the way."

"HE _WHAT?!_"

"Oh, we'll get him back for this," growled Fred. "George, when we get home, we're gonna hide as many Whiz-bangs in his room as we can sneak in."

"Hide some trick sweets in his food," added George. "There's that one we haven't finished yet – it'll give him really bad diarrhoea, and only we have the cure. Maybe it'll teach him not to run his mouth."

"Yeah, he'll be too busy running something else instead."

As the twins started scheming, their usual mischievous expressions on their faces, Charlie smiled to himself and reclined in the chair, satisfied that they were back to normal. He didn't think he should mention that it had only actually been four Galleons though, or that he was listening to every word they were saying – but, if he thought about it, why _would_ he rat the twins out? He wasn't about to risk his own sanity by getting on their bad side. And besides, Ron deserved it. Stealing from family was unacceptable.

Charlie had been a Gryffindor Quidditch Seeker in his Hogwarts years, so he knew perfectly well how to catch the Snitch and how to avoid the bludgers. It didn't mean he couldn't have a bit of fun in the game while he was playing in it, though.


	6. Hogwarts

Fred and George pressed their faces against the window and pulled faces at their parents, who were waving at them as the train departed. Warm breath steamed up the window and through it they could see Mrs. Weasley drawing target circles at them with one hand on her hips and her lips pursed readily. They waved and ducked away from the window before she could hex them, dragging their trunks along with them until they found a carriage they could settle into comfortably.

"See if you can levitate it up there wandlessly," suggested Fred.

George nodded and extended his arm, pointing his hand at it, his fingers relaxed. Their trunks quivered and slowly moved upwards, landing in the luggage rack with a heavy clunk. A dull throb made him cringe and he sat down, massaging his temples. Fred gripped both sides of his head and gazed into his eyes, and the warmth coming from his fingers soothed the oncoming headache before it had a chance to begin.

Since they'd discovered their powers, they'd continued to experiment with it, and they'd found that they were better at using wandless, wordless magic. It was simple spells that didn't require much concentration, and spells within their elements – they hadn't tried many other spells, but those seemed to be the ones that they could perform best.

"Feel better?" asked Fred.

George smiled affirmatively. "Thanks. Shall I go?"

Fred did a mock bow. "Please," he said, and motioned towards the door.

It was the beginning of another year at Hogwarts, and that meant fresh blood was on the train. George and Fred did something like this each year; one stayed in the compartment while the other pretended to lose the other. It gave them an excuse to open all of the doors and figure out where everyone was – who would be easy prey and who would be an interesting victim. To the Slytherins especially, it also gave them an early place to start, because when George opened the first door to a compartment, he was already being attacked with insults that were actually more amusing than offensive.

"Alright, no need to get snippy. I'm just looking for my twin," George backed out of the compartment and into the corridor. The door was slammed from the inside. _"First compartment, unsorted girl, potential Slytherin. Has a really bad case of verbal diarrhoea," h_e told Fred and moved onto the next one.

He was three from getting back to their carriage when he opened the door and found Cedric Diggory sharing the same compartment with Harry. It was odd that the boy wonder had opted to sit with the Hufflepuff Quidditch captain as opposed to Ron and Hermione like he usually did, but George made no comment. Perhaps he was asking for Quidditch advice or something.

"Sorry, just looking for-" he couldn't say Fred, what if they'd seen them entering the compartment? "-Lee. You wouldn't know where he is, would you?"

"I think I saw him talking to Angelina, the girl on your Quidditch team," said Cedric. "They're in a compartment a little bit further along."

George smiled slyly. It was well known that Lee had a thing for Angelina – she was quite the catch. Fred had an interest in her as well – they'd never dated, but there was something between them. An infatuation, perhaps. But she'd never shown a real interest in Lee before, so why now? George wasn't sure what to make of it as he searched the rest of the train. If Lee was dating Angelina, Fred could get pretty upset, probably even jealous, especially since they were all best friends.

He stopped outside the fifth compartment away from theirs and opened the door slowly, freezing as he heard a moan and gasp. Lee pulled himself away from Angelina and stared at the twin, looking horrified and guilty.

"Fred-" he started.

"I'm George," said George. "Er, sorry, just came to ask if you've seen Fred."

Angelina coughed and straightened up. "But you came in here... you asked us that before, didn't you? You caught us and, uh, said you wouldn't tell- oh no..."

George stiffened. Fred had caught Angelina and Lee kissing and passed himself off as George. Ignoring Lee's cry of 'wait', he took off back to their compartment and flung the door open.

It was empty.

"_Fred?"_

No reply. Multiple shouts of annoyance and alarm greeted him as he surged down the corridor, flinging all of the doors open with magic, but he ignored them, cursing as he tried to find his twin.

"_Fred! Where are you?"_

"_Shut up a minute, mate!" _came the angry reply.

"_Where are you?"_

He found Fred with Hermione, sitting alone on the train with a book in her hands. Breathless, he skidded to a halt and approached the two, ready to say something. Fred shot a look at him that silenced him instantly.

"So there are books on it?" he asked the bushy-haired witch.

"Yes," replied Hermione, scribbling something onto a piece of parchment and handing it to him. Fred read it and shoved it into his pocket. "But the research you're looking for will most likely be classified and in the Restricted Section of the library."

"We'll, that's all we needed to know. Thank you," smiled Fred, standing up. At the door he paused. "You won't tell anyone about this, will you?"

Hermione lifted her gaze from her book and observed the two carefully. George could sense the unease flowing from Fred, and anger which was reflected in the warmth of his skin as he lingered in the doorway.

"No," said Hermione finally. "And you won't...?"

"We won't tell anyone where we found the information," replied Fred. "Thanks."

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ x ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

As soon as they sat down, they locked the door and started to change into their school robes. Fred was tired and a little bit annoyed and he was sure that George could sense it. As he pulled off his shirt and reached for his school robes, a pair of cold hands landed where his neck met his shoulders and squeezed, pulling at the tense muscles there. Fred stiffened for a moment and then relaxed, staring at the bench-chair angrily.

"You know?" he asked.

"I'm sorry," said George.

"Don't be," Fred sighed. "We weren't even dating. I thought she was interested in me, but last year I saw her talking to Lee a lot more. I figured... I dunno what I figured. If he can make her happy, I guess I'm fine with it."

"You say that, but your body temperature tells me differently," said George softly. "You're jealous."

"I'll get over it," said Fred.

It would take a while, but he would manage it. Angelina had looked at him from across the classroom a lot more, passing glances, he figured he had a shot. But shortly after that it stopped; she began looking at Lee that way, talking to him and ignoring Fred. Had it just been a passing attraction or was it something else? Was it Lee's constant attention on her? What was he doing wrong?

"It's not your fault she can't see how _stunningly_ handsome you are," George pointed out.

Smirking, Fred looked over his shoulder, his brow raising. "Stop flattering yourself. We look the same."

"Do we?" gasped George. "I didn't notice."

They were fully clothed, wrestling and laughing when the door was magically unlocked from the outside and a smug young boy with platinum blond hair looked in. They stopped immediately and turned to face the Slytherin, narrowing their eyes. Crabbe and Goyle were behind him.

"Have you heard of knocking?" asked Fred.

Malfoy wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Is that what you do when you're alone? Roll around like farm animals?"

"Is this what you do when you're with friends?" countered George, lifting his head challengingly. "Act tough because you're really a snivelling coward? You're not impressing anybody, Malfoy, so bugger off."

Malfoy growled. "I don't care what you say – you're a bunch of lousy blood traitors. Nobody in their right mind would-"

"But you didn't deny it," Fred smirked. "So it is true, then?"

"Of course it's not true," said Malfoy, smiling darkly. "You didn't deny being farm animals."

"Actually you said we roll around like farm animals," said Fred.

"You know how farm animals roll around, then?" asked George. "You probably do it yourself, stuck up git. Or maybe his father does," he added to Fred, who nodded. "I bet his father does, you know. He certainly has enough money for it."

Malfoy's sneer turned into a furious glare. His wand snapped into his hand from a holster around his wrist. "How dare you?"

"Very easily, actually. And he didn't deny that either," George observed. "Well well, isn't this a scandal? Big ol' papa Malfoy living in the dirt with the pigs." Lowering his voice secretively, he pressed, "does your mother know?"

"You take that back!" roared Malfoy, pointing his wand at George. Fred stiffened and narrowed his eyes, taking a step towards Malfoy, who immediately switched targets.

"Think you can take us both on, do you?" he sneered, backing Malfoy into the corridor, where people were starting to crowd to see what was going on. "You do realise that we're older than you and we know more than you, or haven't you thought that much through? Or does your father teach you curses so you can pick on people you think are weaker than you?"

"My father has taught me a lot of useful spells," snarled Malfoy. "Unlike yours, who probably taught you nothing but how to earn money. The Weasleys have to survive somehow after all, I wouldn't be surprised. That's probably why you have so many brothers. How else would you have managed to get to the Quidditch World Cup? He must've snagged someone really high up. Must've been desperate."

"Protego!" cried George furiously, whipping his wand towards Malfoy. In one fluid motion, a teal shield snapped into existence in front of him. Malfoy, startled, turned his wand to George.

"Petrifi-"

"Langlock!" Fred snapped. Malfoy's tongue got stuck to the roof of his mouth.

George spun in place and kicked the shield in front of him. It flew forward like a brick wall and crashed into the Malfoy heir, knocking him back several feet into Crabbe and Goyle, whose legs buckled beneath the weight.

"_Boys!" _

Professor Lupin, Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, strode through the crowd with his wand raised. He took one look at the Slytherins struggling to their feet on the floor and growled, "Wands away! What is going on here?"

Malfoy made a series of odd noises, unable to speak because of the Langlock jinx. Lupin flicked his wand and muttered a spell, and he could speak again. Unfortunately.

"They attacked me!" he exclaimed.

Fred opened his mouth to speak, but George rested a hand on his arm. _"Leave it to me."_

"He came in and began insulting our family and challenging our father's honour," said George. "We asked him to leave and he pulled his wand on us. We were only defending ourselves."

Following his brother's lead, Fred nodded.

"Did you jinx him unprovoked?" asked Lupin, eyeing Malfoy suspiciously.

Malfoy opened his mouth to speak; Lee shoved his way to the front. "We saw everything, Professor Lupin," he said, Angelina behind him. "Malfoy tried to cast the Full Body Bind curse, sir. They were just trying to stop him."

A chorus of "yeah" came from the crowd.

Lupin glared at Malfoy. "In which case, go back to your room and stay there. I'll be having a word with your Head of House when we get to Hogwarts. Give me your wand."

"But-"

"It is not negotiable!" Lupin snapped, holding out his hand. "If you cannot use it responsibly, you will not use it at all. You can get it back when I'm sure you can use it sensibly."

Malfoy grudgingly shoved his wand into Professor Lupin's hand, grumbling that he didn't need it as he stormed off down the train.

Fred and George grinned as they watched him go and walked back inside for the rest of the train. Fred didn't greet Lee or Angelina and George didn't press it.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ x ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

"I've never seen someone use a shield charm like that!" cheered Ron as the golden trio sat down at the Gryffindor table. "You kicked Malfoy's butt!"

"Actually we kicked Malfoy's face," said Fred.

"Though it's easy to see how you got the two confused." Added George, trying to balance his fork on his forefinger. Malfoy was glaring at them from across the hall. George just smiled and waved, though he had a bad feeling that he'd be seeing more of the irritating blond. Fred caught onto his unease and followed his twin's eyes, but Malfoy was no longer looking at them. He'd turned back to converse with his friends, though they both swore they caught his lips form the word _Weasley _and _revenge._

Looking over to the staff table, George examined the row of teachers. There was Professor Dumbledore sat in the middle with McGonagall, Snape, Lupin, Hagrid and Trelawny. Flitwick was there too, but he was shifting food around his plate without appetite as Trelawny spoke to him, and he didn't seem to be listening. Lupin leaned over slightly and murmured something to Snape; the two began to speak, and Malfoy looked at the table nervously.

George couldn't stop smiling at the thought he'd just had, and the already noisy dinner table seemed to tense in anticipation. Scheming twins was never a good sign; it was always a tell tale sign for trouble, according to Molly Weasley and the rest of the... well, world. But his thought was too funny, and as time went on, his creative mind started developing his new idea further.

Until he started snickering. That earned him a few nervous stares. Fred, sat beside him, hadn't noticed his twin's fun-craving, mischievous smirk, so as soon as he heard his twin begin shaking with muffled sounds of quiet laughter, he licked the gravy from his top lip and proceeded to gaze in reserved amusement.

George glanced at him after a few moments. Fred's expression didn't change, though his calm eyes flicked to meet matching, mirrored jewels, and George scoffed and had to avert his gaze as he laughed harder, hiding his curved lips behind the back of his right hand.

"What are you planning?" Ron whimpered, stuffing a potato into his mouth. His cheeks puffed out like a squirrel.

George stopped laughing and straightened, blinking innocently. "I don't know what you're talking about," he replied earnestly. "Really, Ron..."

"...must you think we're _always_ up to something?" Fred leaned over and plucked a glass of water from beside his plate.

"Because nine out of ten times you usually _are_," stated Ginny matter-of-factly. Ron nodded.

George rolled his eyes. "_Nine_ out of ten. Not ten out of ten. Jeez guys," He said, and Fred joined in so that two voices both said, "You're all so paranoid."

George continued by himself, "Nothing's going on. _Yet._"

The twins stood up as soon as they'd finished their meal and headed back to the dorm, muttering the password, "Lionheart."

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ x ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Oliver Wood and Lee Jordan had the other beds closest to them; Ron and Harry were nearer to the middle of the room, which was the warmest but not the most comfortable. Unfortunately it was first come first serve; students would run to the dorms as fast as humanely possible to secure their position. That, and become confused as to how Fred and George _always_ managed to beat them when they were the last to leave the table.

"One day I'll find out how they do it," he heard Ron mutter, but he wasn't paying much attention. He was trying to figure out why his twin had run off abruptly without saying a word.

"George!" Fred ran up the spiral staircase, breathing heavily. He stumbled over Ron's briefcase and kicked it back towards his younger brother, knocking one leg from under him. "If I trip over that again...!" he hissed.

"What's up, Fred?" asked George.

"_Come over here," _Fred nodded to their beds, and sat down, pulling out a book from inside his robes. With a wary glance to see if Ron was listening in, he pressed a book into George's hands. _"I was talking to Hermione earlier on the train and this is a book she recommended we look at for 'our essay'."_

"_A history of Greek mythology," _George read out, running his thumb along the edge of the book. _"This was in the restricted section? It should probably stay there for sounding as dull as it does."_

Ron looked up as Fred laughed, unaware of the conversation going on between the twins. He narrowed his eyes at the book they were holding. He shrugged, threw his coat down on the bed and headed to the common room to find Harry.

"_Turn to page three-hundred and ninety four."_

George tipped the book so that the cover fell open and rolled through the pages, searching. He stopped at four hundred and, not touching the book, dragged his hand through the air and flipped the rest using magic. There was a note and a picture of a young man setting on grass, his body pale and absent of robes or clothing.

"_Hermes is a Greek god. Legend foretells him to be a trickster who is known to outwit other magical gods for the sake of others. He is inventive, cunning and quick, fiercely loyal and brave. Believed to have helped all manner of life forms, he was the messenger of gods and the guide of dead souls to the afterlife. He would protect these souls and return them to the path when they became astray."_

George mused over the introductory paragraph until his eyes strayed and became fixated on an image at the top right corner of the page. He stared at the picture, his hand gliding up to his chest, massaging the strange crystal indent that he felt there. "These wings are a perfect match to the markings, Fred."

"We've got a lot more research to do," said Fred. "This doesn't explain what we are or what we can do, but we have an idea of where to look."

George looked up at his twin. "I don't understand," he confessed. "Fred... earlier on when you were talking to Hermione, she said this book would be in the restricted section. Why was _this_ in the restricted section?"

Fred made a motion with his hand and the pages flew back to one hundred and ninety-six. The red-head skimmed the page until his finger ran along a paragraph. George's blood chilled as he listened to his brother read a journal extract from a hundred years ago.

"_...some witches and wizards of varying heritage have been known to carry a gift, whereby they possess certain powers that separate them from ordinary magical folk. They are extremely rare – only seven have been discovered over the past two thousand years, and five of those were before the times were accurately recorded, so their existence cannot be confirmed, and their powers may have been changed and interpreted differently throughout the ages. One early example is a nameless young woman who, according to Egyptian hieroglyphics, became a vagabond. She had the power to turn into a mighty beast – some say a Dragon, others say a Basilisk... she could wield lightning like a third limb and, when angered, could kill as instinctively as taking a breath._

_They are extremely powerful and not much is known about them, so they are in essence a borderline extinct species. The Ministry of Magic has several laws in place that are non-negotiable... for example, like Animagi, they must be registered and closely monitored; all powers recorded, all movements tracked. The most recent, most famous Act is called the Protection of Endangered Species Act, 1679. There is a branch specifically designed for these creatures which will be closed down until the Ministry locates one of these creatures._

_There is much debate as to what they actually are. Could they be human? Could they be pseudo-gods? Are they something else that we don't understand, or catalysts of power? Much controversy and speculation has arisen but no answers can be provided. There are several things I can be sure of, though. Hunting them is strictly illegal; anyone seen or known to be tracking them with the intention to harm or to kill is immediately detained and cast into Azkaban – something which has been discussed extensively._

_Being in the leading authority, I have been given certain rights in regard to research... but one thing I have decided on is that I cannot simply refer to them as 'creatures' or 'them'. They should be given a name. Because they have magic powers, and each one has a sort of mysterious significance, I have decided to call them... Runes."_

George stared at the book for a little longer than was necessary. So was that what they were? _Runes?_ It would make sense... except they still had no idea what they could do or, if they _were_ Runes, why they existed. As he read deeper in, Fred's chin on his shoulder and eyes following the words. The man's name was Judas, and he was apparently a philosopher.

"Freddie," said George, "It's time we did something we haven't done in three years."

"Make McGonagall laugh? Make an accurate prediction in Divination?"

George rolled his eyes. "That was a fluke and you know it. How were we supposed to know that the tea leaves would predict us destroying a Potion's lab? And that we would actually do it – albeit on purpose?"

"Dunno, but I still hear the echoes of Snape's undying roars today. I swear half the stuff he threatened to do to us was illegal."

"Well we can't do that second thing anyway," said George. "We don't take Divination."

"Thank Merlin," added Fred grimly.

They talked for a few minutes longer until people began to walk up the stairs and get ready for bed. Fred and George reluctantly made their own way to their beds, but paused and glanced at each other.

After everything that they had learned today, neither of them wanted to be alone. They levitated their beds so they could lie side by side and settled down, their hands linked beneath the blankets.

"_We'll be okay, Gred. We'll figure this out."_

"_I know, Forge. I know."_


	7. Defense Against the Dark Arts

Lessons began as normal on Monday and it wasn't odd to see a student from Beaubaxton or Durmstrang sitting in the back of the room to watch what Hogwarts taught and how good their students were. If the tables had turned, some of the Ravenclaw students probably would have done the same thing. Did they even have Houses? Everyone looked relatively the same in uniform; there were no tell-tale signs, like different coloured stitching or a badge.

George found them both in Defence Against the Dark Arts before he finally woke up enough to listen. The classroom was just as he remembered it; a few rows of tables and chairs, splitting the house groups straight down the middle. The tables were pushed back for practical lessons, but there was a small combat area at the front of the classroom. Professor Lupin was going over the different mythical creatures and their weaknesses as a start-of-term recap, and he wondered if he would mention anything about Runes.

Runes were, according to legends, creatures that were given a 'Blessing' by a god or deity. They had extraordinary power but they were borderline extinct, with only seven known about over the past two thousand years and five of them without actual proof of their powers.

Fred was sitting next to him folding a paper aeroplane but George found himself listening intently, scratching down names of beasts as they were explained and their powers. Suddenly the paper bird burst into flames and disintegrated right beside him and everyone was standing up for the practical half of the lesson.

"Come on," said Fred. "He's gonna teach us how to cast the _Patronus_."

"But we're fifth years," said George, confused.

Professor Lupin smiled as he approached. "And, without trying to sound mean, your last two teachers were rather... well, to put it simply, incompetent. Quirrell and Lockhart I daresay taught you enough last year, and it is my belief that you will need more than just theory in Defence Against the Dark Arts. Did either of those teachers ever teach you to cast a _Patronus_?"

"The first one never tried and the second one dropped his wand," frowned George.

"Nah, Lockhart landed himself in the hospital wing, didn't he? Managed to grow antlers coming out of his face," said Fred. "Though now we think about it, they were completely hopeless. We could have learned it quicker figuring it out ourselves."

"Yes, well, if you move your table against the wall, we can begin."

George took up a position at the front left and was acutely aware that Lupin was watching them as he explained what a Patronus charm was, and what it was used for. Fred and George had heard about the _Patronus _charm and seen it in textbooks when they'd skimmed through it, though they hadn't stopped to actually read about them. All they knew was that complete ones took on a corporeal form, but that each one varied in appearance, and the animal was usually related to the personality or preferences of the caster.

"You watch," whispered Fred as they dropped into a duelling stance together. "Ours'll probably be a hyena or a fox or something."

"Now, I want you to think about your happiest memory, and let it flow through you. When you're ready, cast the _Patronus_ charm by saying the following incantation: _Expecto Patronum."_

George, as well as the rest of the class, repeated the incantation and got to work.

What was his happiest memory? As simple as it sounded, it was a lot harder to figure out than it was to produce. He actually didn't know what his happiest memory was. Was it getting his own broom for the first time? Was it when he and Fred were accepted onto the Gryffindor Quidditch team?

Neither of them produced as much as a spark. Fred was having just as much trouble as he was. Maybe it was something less obvious. Was it when they had first started making joke items? Sure that was a happy experience, but he couldn't see how it would cast a _Patronus_ charm.

When they had gone to the Quidditch World Cup? His wand sputtered as if in disagreement with him and he stared at it incredulously. Alright, so maybe it had been fun, but not the happiest point in his life.

When they had found out about their powers? His wand released a surge of power and for a split second he thought he'd done it, but his own wand flung itself into the air. Blasted thing, if it were human, it was as if it had thrown up its arms in exasperation and groaned.

Someone reached down and plucked it from the ground. Professor Lupin stood in front of them both with a casual smile in his ragged features. "Don't worry, a _Patronus_ is a difficult charm to produce."

"We haven't even produced it though," said Fred, coming up behind them. How long had they been trying? Everyone else was leaving the class.

"You will, in time." Professor Lupin said. "What are your wands made of? Not that it has anything to do with casting a Patronus – just curious."

"Dogwood, Phoenix feather core, er, nine inch and... unyielding, isn't it?"

"Something like that," said George.

Lupin smiled. "A matching wand for such notorious pranksters," he commented, something glinting in his eyes. "Dogwood has been known to be a playful wand, but it can produce extraordinary pieces of magic when it wants to. What about yours?"

"They're both the same," said George. "They're twin wands."

Lupin's smile fell. "Twin wands?" he echoed, examining them both under the light.

They were both long and a pale oak colour, the handle slightly curved with zig-zag markings over the handle. It had a bandage-like marking where the wand met the handle, which was thinner than the rest of the wand and had a little bit of a bend in it.

"How can you tell them apart?"

"Well, we feel a bit of a pull towards one of the wands," said Fred. "Sometimes they like to switch on us at weird moments, so we end up swapping all of the time. It's funny, really, except when we're in the middle of something."

"Sometimes we wake up in the morning and the wand I need is in his bag." George slung his arm around Fred's shoulders.

"And mine in his," added Fred, smiling slightly.

They said together, "But sometimes they both pull at us at the same time, so we have to just pick one, but that offends the other wand – they think we're playing favourites, you see."

Lupin seemed to have trouble following their conversation. He looked doubly confused when they reached out and took the other's wand back.

"We can't duel each other either. The wands don't like it," said George, shaking with silent laughter. "It really isn't pretty when we try."

"We're still trying to convince Snape that it wasn't our fault," added Fred. "He won't have it."

"Why? What did you do?" asked Lupin.

The twins didn't reply, but the biggest shit-eating grins had just come onto their faces. Lupin shook his head and laughed at their matching expressions and lowered his hands to his sides.

"Okay, fine, I'll find out another way. Just one question – if your wands 'switch' ownership between the two of you... did you use your own wands earlier today, or each others?"

Fred and George pulled themselves apart and held out their wands to each other. George could feel the familiar reluctant tug of the wand in his hand wanting to stay there, but also to switch places with its twin. They opened their other hand out so that they both held the two wands and looked at the two of them before looking at each other.

Lupin waited silently, watching with interest as the two twins tried to figure out which wand was theirs. It seemed that they couldn't decide, so Fred reached into his pocket and pulled out five sickles.

"Bet mine is that one," he nodded to the wand in George's hand.

George nodded and reached into his pocket, pulling out the same amount, plus a button with a piece of dark string sticking out of it. He smiled sheepishly at his twin, who scoffed in amusement.

"I bet you're holding your own wands," said Lupin, and he surprised them both by pulling out five sickles and offering them to the table. For a moment there was silence, and then the twins groaned.

"You traitorous wand," whined Fred. "You just lost us ten sickles!"

"This is mutiny, we'll have you know!"

Lupin laughed, and despite their misfortune, so did the twins. He collected his winnings. "Don't tell anyone I gambled with students."

"Oh we won't," said George, twirling his wand in his hand. He paused. A thought just occurred to him. "Can you show us how to cast a Patronus again? Maybe it didn't work because we weren't holding the right wand."

"We can certainly give it a try, but don't expect to get it right the first time." said Lupin fondly. "Alright, wands at the ready – _away from me!_" he added quickly as they lifted their wands at him. "Now, think of your happiest memory... allow it to fill you up... that's it... now when you're ready, say the words, _Expecto Patronum_."

George closed his eyes and focused on his happiest memory. Fred was standing close against him, his body warmth brushing against him like the common room fire. Every memory he had, he shared with Fred – there was nothing that they had done so far in their lives that they hadn't done together. It would never be something without his twin; there was no happiness for him, no place, when they weren't together, because when they were separated, that's when everything went wrong.

He remembered their sorting ceremony; they'd been called out one after the other, and George had gone when Fred had been called, so that they could confuse the Sorting Hat and make it laugh. They'd had their first detention with Filch – and swiped the Marauders Map, but that didn't seem their happiest moment. The first time they'd been affected by MCO, the Magical Core Overload, they had refused to leave each others side, and when Fred had got hurt in Quidditch practice, George had hexed Oliver for asking that he get back on his broom and let someone else take him down to the infirmary.

Then something occurred to him. What if they didn't have a specific happy memory? What if everything they did together was the happiest moment of their lives? George couldn't imagine a moment without Fred. When he thought of living on his own, there was just a thick haze of confusion. He didn't want to know because he didn't want to live without his twin.

There was a gasp from behind them and George opened his eyes. They hadn't mouthed the incantation, and somewhere along the line they had both dropped their wands and started holding the other's hand so tightly that their knuckles had turned white. But there, stood before them, were two magnificent, ghostly Phoenixes, swirling in the air in a majestic, timeless dance.

The Phoenixes let out keen cries of greeting, twisting around to hover in front of them. They were great swan-sized birds with long feathers and sweeping tails. For some reason their presence made Fred and George want to keep their hands held. They gazed at each other for what seemed like an eternity

"_Impossible!"_

They snapped out of their joy and looked over their shoulders. Lupin was staring at them with wide eyes, unable to believe what he was seeing. With their wands on the ground, it suddenly hit them: they'd cast a _Patronus_ wandlessly. _Wordlessly._

On an unspoken signal they broke hands; the _Patronuses_ vanished with screeches of alarm, and they bolted from the room as fast as their legs could carry them. Professor Lupin called for them to wait and they heard pounding footsteps chasing them down from the tower, but they continued running, shoving people out of the way as they ran.

"Fred – George! Wait!"

The Gryffindor Beaters bowled over a group of first year Hufflepuff and sent Madam Hooch tumbling back into one of the classrooms with a startled howl as they tore through the corridors. Neither had any idea of where they were heading, just that they had to hide long enough that Lupin would give up his pursuit. The werewolf was fast; every time they turned a corner he was right on their heels, and when they thought they'd lost him, he cut them off.

George, whose body demanded cold winds, was growing tired, whereas Fred barely seemed winded. He stumbled, yelping as a sharp pain flew up his ankle. Fred stopped, glanced over his shoulder and dragged him back to his feet. His inner fire was reflecting in the depths of his eyes; he was determined to escape, but he would not do it without George.

"Come on!" he urged.

Fred must have been drawing energy from the sun. It was still hot; it had been all day, and George hadn't been very comfortable. He hadn't yet learned how to lower his body temperature and run and the same time – assuming, of course, that he could.

"_There's a secret passage at the end of this corridor," _said Fred. _"Nobody comes down here. We can use it to escape, but we need a distraction – can you throw up an ice wall behind us?"_

He hadn't tried before. He'd tried it while standing still and sliced a tree in half by accident – he didn't want to be accused of attacking, possibly killing a teacher, especially since this one was close to Harry Potter. They skidded to a halt before he could try, and as George crashed into Fred, gasping for breath, he discovered why.

Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall were blocking their way.

Professor Lupin skidded to a halt behind them. Something about his eyes seemed sharper, and he sniffed the air, his nose twitching.

"That's enough," said Dumbledore, gazing at them over his half-moon spectacles. "You shouldn't be running in the corridors. My my, Mr. Weasley, you look a little pale."

George stiffened. Now that they'd stopped running, his ankle had stopped hurting. McGonagall, a tall woman with grey hair and a stoic disposition, was looking at them with stern disapproval on her features.

"Why on earth were you running from a teacher?" demanded the lioness.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ x ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

When Errol swooped in with a red envelope clutched in his talons, Fred wasn't surprised. McGonagall, despite Lupin's assurances that nothing was wrong, had written home to their parents to inform them of the twins' atrocious behaviour, stating that the school is not a zoo for students to run around like unruly children in, especially since they had guests from two other schools. When Errol crashed into a bowl of vegetables – Fred wasn't sorry to see that go – he just stood and reached out towards the elderly owl, ready to claim his missive.

Except Ron reached out and nabbed it first. "Blimey, what did you do to get this?" he asked, reading the names on the letter.

"You didn't see?" asked Hermione. "Surely you must have heard about it. Professor Lupin was chasing them through the school yesterday."

Harry looked up from his meal. "Seriously? What did you guys do?"

"Received an education," sneered George sarcastically, reaching over and snatching it out of Ron's hand. "Nose out of it."

The angry red howler had started to shake and smoke from the inside. George simply blew some of it away. The entire hall had gone quiet.

"Should we open it?" sighed Fred. "It'd be a laugh."

"Yeah, but it'll probably bite our faces off," muttered George. "Let's just ignore it."

"You shouldn't ignore a howler," stammered Neville Longbottom. "My Grandma sent me one once... it was-"

"We know," chorused the twins.

"We've got them before," said Fred.

A chorus of 'open it!' rose up from various people on the tables. George just huffed and, as Fred transfigured a fork, scrunching it up into a paper ball, tossed it over his shoulder towards the Hufflepuff table. Half-way in mid air, Fred reached around with a slingshot and fired a peanut at it. The howler burst into flames and exploded before it could reach them. Ash fluttered down onto the middle of the floor.

"How'd you do that?" asked Neville, flabbergasted.

"Magic," drawled the twins, wiggling their fingers mysteriously.

"Indeed," came a voice that made the twins wince. Professor Lupin was behind them, his fists filled with the shoulders of their robes. "Now, if you two could come to my office, I'd like a word with you. Bring some food if you're still hungry."

They were frog marched out of the hall, but not before Fred yanked his shirt out of Lupin's hand. "We won't run," he growled. But Lupin still kept a firm grip on George's shirt just in case. When they reached Lupin's office, the door was shut and locked, and a silencing charm cast.

"Now, would you like to tell me what that was about?" he prompted.

The twins remained stubbornly silent.

"How did you perform the _Patronus_ charm without your wands or incantations?"

Silence.

Lupin sighed. "I'm not angry at you, nor are you in trouble. It would be in your best interest to explain what you were doing, or would you rather I find out some other way?"

Fred and George sat on the edge of his desk and stared.

"Alright then, if you're not going to co-operate willingly..."

"We were afraid you were going to punish us," said George suddenly, glancing at Fred.

Lupin blinked. "Why would you think that?"

"Come off it, Professor. Who else do you know can whip out a _Patronus_ like that?" asked Fred. "You were staring at us like you wanted to dissect us or something."

"I was surprised that, when you had trouble performing in class the easiest way possible, you could do wandless, wordless magic and sustain it so easily." Professor Lupin explained. "As I said in class, the _Patronus_ charm is a highly advanced piece of magic. At your level and age, it should be normal to... I mean, you should still be struggling to summon a non-corporeal _Patronus_."

"Well we're not exactly normal," replied Fred sharply, noticing his slip.

"I gathered that," said Lupin. "In all my life I have never seen such control over magic. I... had a suspicion even before you told me about your wands."

"And what does that mean?" asked George, flicking his head to get his shoulder-length ginger hair out of his eyes.

Lupin sighed quietly through his nose and reached into his robes, producing a thick leather book. The twins bristled.

"You went through our-"

"I found out you'd gone through the Restricted Section of the library," Lupin interrupted, placing the book on the table. "Nobody aside from me knows, and I won't tell them. But I want to know why you stole this book from the library, and what you intend to use it for."

"You found the book, and probably our notes too. Isn't it obvious?" Fred challenged.

Lupin sighed. "I was hoping that you would tell me, to be honest. There are several ways to interpret what you've been writing about."

"People tend to go to the library to do research," said George.

"_Relevant_ to their chosen subjects," finished Lupin, approaching the twins. "You both take the same classes and that don't include History of Magic. And I've asked around – you never come in the library, even to study or to collect books for research. You always do that in the common room, in the dorm or outside on the Quidditch pitch – which is, also, a rare sight in itself, if I might say."

"What can we say?" said Fred bitterly. "We listen well in class."

"That's beside the point!" snapped Lupin, glaring at them both, his patience finally abandoning him. "I've been patient with you two. I've given you time and space to calm down and I'd hoped you'd think things through and come to your senses." He paced the room, muttering quietly, "Now what do I do? If Padfoot were here, I-"

"Padfoot?" Fred repeated. George leaned forward. "You know Padfoot?"

"Of course I know him," replied Lupin exasperatedly. "We went to school together. We were best friends."

Fred mouthed the word 'best friends' silently. George narrowed his eyes.

"You wouldn't happen to know Prongs, would you? Or Moony?"

Lupin blinked at them. "You know about the Marauders?"

"We idolise the Marauders," confirmed the twins together. "They're our inspiration."

Professor Lupin looked thoughtful for a moment, examining their hopeful expressions, and then grinned mischievously. This was the trump card he needed to get the information he needed.

"Of course I know the Marauders," he said. "After all, I _am_ Moony."


	8. Why So Sirius

Lupin strode through the hallway with a smirk on his lips, the two young pranksters padding after him. It had worked; as soon as he'd proven that he was, in fact, Moony from the Marauders, the two had opened up to him (though still cautiously, and he had a feeling that they had withheld important information). Though unannounced, they would go up to Dumbledore's office, where they would speak to him and obtain permission for something that hopefully he wouldn't question.

As he approached the stone gargoyle statue guarding Dumbledore's office, he racked his brains trying to think of the password. Dumbledore could claim it as precautions, Lupin saw it as paranoia, but the password was changed on a day-to-day basis, and only the Heads of Houses were told. Luckily he had heard it from McGonagall when he'd been passing by.

"Sherbet Stick," he declared quietly. The gargoyle moved aside, and they ascended the spiral staircase with haste. There was someone that he needed to see.

Dumbledore was in a meeting with the Heads of Houses when he stepped towards the door, but it ended as his hand rested on the handle. They stepped aside as Snape (Slytherin), McGonagall (Gryffindor), Sprout (Hufflepuff) and Flitwick (Ravenclaw) walked in an orderly fashion downstairs – though Snape wrinkled his nose distastefully at the visitors and McGonagall looked suspicious and annoyed.

"Come in, my dear boy," said Dumbledore, sitting behind his desk again. "Lemon drop?"

"No thank you, Professor," said Lupin, though the twins picked some up from the small bowl on the table. As Dumbledore moved to open a window – the room had suddenly warmed up – he pretended not to see the twins slip a few trick sweets into the mix.

"In trouble again, are we?" asked Dumbledore, his blue eyes twinkling.

"Not this time." Lupin smiled. "I've set these youngsters an extra credit task – research on a variety of different creatures and how best to defeat them with spells, but unfortunately most of the books they need are in the Restricted Section..."

Dumbledore conjured a glass of tea and sniffed it slowly. "Ah, I see. I will write you a note to allow you access." With a wave of his hand, he summoned a quill to him and pulled out a slip from underneath his desk. "Is that all you wish to talk to me about?"

"Yes, thank you, Professor."

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ x ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Clutching bats in their right hands, they performed lazy stretching motions on their brooms, readying themselves for Quidditch practice. The rest of the team was gathered around Oliver Wood, their Keeper, and George paused for a moment as Fred went down to join them.

Through his sharpened gaze, he could see two figures making their way off the pitch in the far distance. They were moving quickly towards the trees; one suddenly stopped, and it looked like she was shouting at someone and clutching her cheek. At first he didn't think much of it, but they stayed there for five minutes, arguing, though he couldn't hear their voices. There was a shock of ginger hair on the boy, and the other seemed to have hair caked in mud and debris, and was carrying a bag that looked like it was struggling to contain what was inside.

The boy reached out and snatched her wrist and the young woman made a movement that looked painful. His initial thought that they were two Slytherins coming to spy on them was shoved down – he recognised the person facing him, who didn't see him, and his heart lurched.

It was Ron.

But he didn't see the face of the person he was with, who was trying to pull her wrist out of his grasp. Ron held on, shouted something, pulled back his fist and punched her, knocking her to the ground. He said something else, spat on the ground, kicked her and stormed away. A few seconds later, she staggered to her feet and walked off in the other direction, her hair hiding her face still, but in obvious pain.

"George?" Fred flew up to him as the Gryffindors below scrambled to take practice positions. "Something wrong?"

George glanced at his brother with concern on his face, then stared at the woman as she walked back into the castle. "I'm not sure," he replied worriedly. "I-"

"Get into position!" Wood called up. "Now!"

"Best do what he says," Fred muttered. "Git. What was it you wanted to tell me?"

George shook his head. "It's nothing. Let's get this over with."

Fred just smiled and knocked their bats together before flying back towards Wood. "Bring out the Bludgers!" he roared, "Time for some action!"

George smiled and snorted, but it faded from his face quickly. Why had Ron assaulted that girl, and why kick her when she was already down? Needless to say, he would be having a word with his little brother later to find out what was going on.

After practice they showered, locked up their equipment and headed up to get something to eat. Ron had waited for Harry outside the lockers, but Hermione was nowhere to be seen. Hermione was known to study a lot, so she was probably up in the library, George told himself as Fred finished munching on a sandwich.

"You guys invited anyone to the Yule Ball yet?" asked Neville curiously, smiling at the twins.

Fred's eyes flickered with a haunted shadow. George noted that he mustn't have gotten over Angelina yet like he said he had. Thinking back on it, they hadn't spoken to Lee Jordan or even seen him that much. He always left before the twins and was in bed when they returned to the dorms.

"Not yet. There's no rush," said George casually. "Nobody's even started asking yet; we don't even know when it'll be. We're all still waiting on the names of the Triwizard champions."

Neville shrugged. "I don't think I'm going, to be honest."

"Why?" Fred asked. Neville hesitated. "Oh come on, you don't think nobody will want to go with you... do you?"

Neville shyly stared at his fork.

"There are plenty of people who would go with you!" argued George, leaning on the table. "Come on, don't give up before you start! That kind of attitude gets you nowhere."

"What you need to do is impress the ladies," said Fred. "No offence, but you're really shy. Maybe drop some books in the hallway, drop a few lines...?"

George, ever quieter than his brother, just smiled and nodded at the appropriate times where he did listen. Lunch ended soon after and Neville was no closer to finding a date than... well, anyone else, really. As they walked up to the library and presented their slip to Madam Pince, who began casting spells over it to check that it wasn't a forgery.

"You go on ahead, Fred, I want to find something out here," whispered George. "Tell me if you find anything."

When Fred had gone through and into the dimly lit section, George walked around the various shelves, pretending to look at books but not actually reading the titles. He hadn't been here in years but the scent of paper still seemed familiar. Someone was sat at the back of the library, talking quietly, and as George neared, he saw Hermione sitting with... was that Viktor _Krum?!_

"It's fine, honestly," Hermione was whispering, her gaze darting to George as he pretended to search for a book. He trailed his fingers along the book spines, only taking his finger off to skip over the gaps in the shelves, until he found one that looked remotely interesting.

_Charms and their Uses, _by Gilderoy Lockhart.

Interesting to _burn_, that was. Maybe before they left, Fred could light up this section, which had books all by Lockhart dumped all over it. Surely they wouldn't miss this old rubbish? Well, Pince would be the only one, but she was married to books.

George 'interestedly' pulled the book off of the shelf and sat down with it at one of the tables. Planting his jaw on the palm of his hand, he sighed and looked up to see if Pince was watching. What if he tried a sticking charm to stick the pages together? A mischievous grin came over his face and he was half way through whispering the incantation when it was suddenly swiped out from under him. Fred sat down beside him.

"Not worth it, mate," he muttered quietly. "You should have just asked me to come over and torch it."

"Don't let Pince hear you say that," warned George, snickering. "Found anything good?"

"Well I put that book back that Lupin caught us with..." Fred began, but George zoned out. He'd heard a word on the nearby table and it instantly attracted his attention.

"_...vell, vhy should you put up with this?" _Krum murmured quietly.

Hermione sighed and started saying something but George didn't hear. Fred suddenly swatted him over the head with the book in his hands and glared at him. George shielded himself from further attacks and rubbed the sore spot on his head, sneezing as the dust from the old book caught in the sunbeams pooling in through the window.

"Are you even listening to me?" he hissed.

"No," said George bluntly. "But I am now. Sorry."

"As I was saying, this book apparently has more information on magical, mythical beasts, and..."

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ x ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

He couldn't get it out of his mind, not even when he sat down with Fred to do some more research. Who had Ron assaulted, and why?

They were sitting in the common room with the book Fred had taken out earlier, and they were just skimming through it to see if Runes were mentioned at all. Well, Fred was. George found himself staring every few minutes at Harry, Ron and Hermione, who were sitting not too far away from the fire, on one of the sofas.

George tapped his quill against the parchment on his knee, rotating it in his fingers. Harry and Ron were talking about Quidditch; the match, the practice session that he'd been involved in. Every time Hermione tried to input something, she'd fall silent and, while Harry would try to answer her, Ron would just ignore her or try to change the subject.

"_Look, Hermione, you should tell a teacher that Malfoy-"_

THWACK!

George yelped and fell off of the squashy red armchair he was sharing with Fred, dropping everything on his lap. Fred had hit him with the book again, but this time he had felt it reverberate throughout his entire body. The noise halted everyone in the common room, and they looked at the twins with shock and amusement.

"_If you're not going to pay attention, at least don't make me sit here like a prat while you daydream about something. You've been acting like this since Quidditch – what's up?"_

"_That's twice you've hit me with that book," _George growled and stood up, glaring at his twin. Fred looked unimpressed, and he tossed the book down onto the chair with such blatant disregard to its welfare, that Madam Pince would have turned into a rabid banshee if she'd seen it.

George threw himself at Fred, giving him no time to dodge. They wrestled on the floor to chants of 'fight, fight, fight', but made it clear that it was just for fun when they started laughing and grinning at each other.

"Get off- right, that's it!"

"Prat!"

"Tosser!"

"Wan-!"

"Don't finish that word, Mr. Weasley!"

Laughing and breathless, they broke apart to see Professor McGonagall standing near the portrait of the Fat Lady. She regarded them disapprovingly but there was a slight twinkle of amusement in her eyes.

"It was just a bit of fun," said Fred.

"No harm done," said George, pulling his brother to his feet.

McGonagall left after putting up a few notices on the board. George helped Fred look for information in the book until they, plus the golden trio, were the only people left downstairs. Ron and Harry left a few minutes after they decided to take a break in their research.

"I'll take this upstairs," Fred said. "You coming?"

"I'll be up in a minute," said George quietly. "Put it in my bag, we can continue tomorrow after lunch."

He waited until Fred had gone out of earshot before he stood and slowly approached Hermione. She was staring at the fire with an open book resting on her lap, but she didn't even seem to be seeing anything. There was a bruise around her eye and she looked pale... and shockingly thin.

"Hermione?" he said quietly.

She jumped and looked at him through wide eyes for a moment before she sighed and looked away again. "What's up? Come for more book advice?"

George sat down on the table in front of her rather than the sofa. "What happened to you?"

"Oh, nothing. Slytherins," said Hermione, closing the book a lot harder than necessary. She stood up quickly. "Look, I gotta go-"

"Hermione," George pressed, reaching out, resting his hand on the crook of her elbow. Hermione stiffened and he caught a flash of alarm as he raised his hand. "Please, sit down and talk to me..."

Hermione might have tried to escape and run up to the dorms – he couldn't follow her there. She was shaking quite badly as she lowered herself – _collapsed –_ back onto the sofa.

"You don't have to tell me your life story, or anything you don't want to, but me and Fred... we're here for you. We're not as stupid as people think." Leaning forward, he held her hand and tried to gaze into her downcast eyes. "Is someone bullying you?"

Hermione's lip quivered and she gave the tiniest of nods.

"Can you tell me who?" _Was it Malfoy?_

Hermione looked like she wanted desperately to say something, and he squeezed her hand gently, waiting for her answer. Eventually she just shook her head. "I can't... I can't say. I'm sorry, I just can't-"

"No, no, no, no, no, don't be sorry," he whispered, smiling slightly. "If you don't want to tell me, that's fine, but I'm just a bit worried. You look like you haven't been eating and you're sporting a pretty good shiner there. Have you had it looked at?"

Hermione shook her head, sniffing, eyes watering. "N- no, I wanted t- to, but they would have asked, and..." Suddenly she burst into tears.

"Hey, shh, shhhhh..." George spun around onto the sofa and pulled her closer to him, stroking the back of her head gently. "It's okay, it's okay."

"No, it's not," sobbed Hermione into his chest. "It's not okay..."

A few minutes later, Fred's voice rung through his head. It felt like a few seconds; he must have zoned out for a moment. _"George, you comin' up?"_

"_No. Go in my bag. At the bottom you should find some bruise removal paste. Bring it down, and bring some tissues, too."_

"_Okay. Gimme a sec. I'll have to ask Harry for the tissues."_

Fred came trotting down the stairs with the items in his hand and, as soon as he saw Hermione crying into his twin's shirt, ran over and set them down onto the table.

"Hermione?" said a worried voice from the doorway. Harry walked over, dressed in his pyjamas, his hair ruffled from pulling his robes over his head.

"Come on, Hermione, keep crying like that and you'll give yourself a headache," George purred, flicking his head to shift his hair out of his face. "Fred's brought down something to help you with that bruise. Can you lift your head for me? That's it..."

Fred unscrewed the lid on the jar and scooped some onto his middle finger.

"I- Is it safe?" asked Hermione, blowing her nose on one of the tissues.

"Of course it is," said George.

"Made it ourselves," said Fred.

"Now now, Fred, don't frighten her," chided George.

Hermione laughed breathlessly.

"We test most of our products on ourselves, so we need a decent bruise remover," explained Fred softly as he wiped away the tears on her face. He frowned, swiping at her cheek and around her nose. "This really is a good one... you covered most of it up with make-up."

"What?" startled, George took another look at the bruise. It had been faded, covering just over her cheekbone the last time he'd looked, but this one stretched across nearly the whole of the left side of her face, and the bridge of her nose as well. _"Whoever did this was right handed."_

"_And a bastard."_

"Well I couldn't go into class looking like this," said Hermione, wincing as Fred applied the thick yellow paste. "People would stare..."

"People already stare," smiled George. "You're a pretty young witch, you know."

Hermione blushed.

"There we go. It'll numb the pain, should be gone within the hour," explained Fred. "When it's healed, it'll turn a bit crusty and start to flake, so you'll know when to scrape it off. Don't get it wet and don't lie on that side of your face, else your pillow will look a bit weird, and people might get concerned."

"Yeah, what is she doing with her pillow, I wonder?" snickered George.

Hermione scoffed and sniffed, and went to wipe at her eye when she froze, remembering the paste. "Thanks. Can I go up to bed now?"

Fred looked scandalised. "Was my brother holding you hostage?" he exclaimed, eyeing George with mock suspicion. "Run, quick, I'll hold him down. You naughty boy, Georgie."

George, his lip twitching, laughed and grabbed one of the pillows, trying to bat at his twin with it. They wrestled there for a while longer, and suddenly he was being shaken awake. From the beams of light coming in through the window, he must have fallen asleep.

Groggily, he pushed himself up, blinking. Fred was slouched with the pillow, crumpled, on his lap, but he was leaning with his arm spread over the back of the sofa. George had been using his stomach as a pillow, judging by how creased his twin's shirt was.

Hermione was kneeling beside them, the bruise gone, but she still looked pale and thin. "You fell asleep."

"I gathered," slurred George, slightly sleep-drunk. "What time is it?"

"It's nearly eleven – it's Saturday, so we don't have any classes," said Hermione. Clasping her hand over her mouth, she let out muffled giggles as George, suddenly awake, took the pillow from his twin's lap and began hitting him over the head with it.

"Freddie, why you do this to meeeee?"

"Bugger off!" Fred snapped, shielding his head and opening his eyes to see George's smiling face. Hermione laughed behind them. He immediately groaned. "Oh god, _what_ have I opened my eyes to?"

"Someone so devilishly handsome it's painful to look at," retorted George, standing up and stretching the cricks from his back and arm. He turned to Hermione, releasing the remnants of sleep through a yawn that made his eyes water. "Good morning... and you're looking a lot better today! Any mess on your pillow?"

Hermione blushed. "No. I washed it off an hour later like you said."

"Good. If you have any other injuries, you should get them looked at by Madam Pomfrey. We know healing spells but as far as pastes go, we don't have any that can heal a pain in the neck."

"Like our brother." Fred rose and started stretching the sleep from his bones. "Is he up yet?"

Hermione reached down to pick up her bag from the table. "Yes, he was at breakfast with Harry," she said. George just stared at her. "I have to hand in some homework but... I wanted to say thanks. Y'know, for yesterday..."

"It's fine," George said brightly. "I like people crying on me."

"You... you've got a good voice, you know," Hermione said, blushing furiously. "What tune were you humming?"

"Er, tune?" George didn't remember humming any tune.

Hermione nodded. "Before Fred came down. It was a nice tune. It really cheered me up."

"I'll try to remember it and I'll tell you when I do." George smiled. "We'd better get ready for lunch. You'll be okay?"

"Yeah," said Hermione. "Thanks again."

"No problem," chorused the twins, heading up to the dorms to freshen up. They both noted that the bruise-healing paste had mysteriously vanished but said nothing as Hermione slipped out of the common room and into the corridor.

But as they ascended the staircase, a similar thought went through both of their heads.

"_There was a bruise on her wrist as well."_


	9. Bad Blood

"Ron, c'mere a minute."

George had finally managed to get his little brother alone in the corridor near Gryffindor's common room. McGonagall had just pulled the entire House of Gryffindor into an unused classroom, where she had started tutoring them early on the art of dancing. Ron had been forced to dance with McGonagall in front of the rest of the house, and while they had been making fun of him a bit then, George was deadly serious now.

"Come to laugh some more?" growled Ron.

"No, I want to ask you about something, actually. But you did bring that on yourself, talking about Midgen that way."

"You can't say it's not true," Ron muttered. "Besides, you say stuff like that all of the time."

George growled. "Fred and I say things to be humorous, not to offend. We make sure people aren't going to be hurt by what we say. There's a line between being funny and being a bully and you damn near crossed it."

"Damn near crossed it – so I didn't. So there's no problem, is there? And besides, you're not here to tell me off for talking about Midgen," said Ron snappily. "What do you want?"

"What happened to your hand?" George asked.

"What?"

"_What_ happened to your hand?" he repeated slowly.

The knuckles on Ron's right hand had a very faint bruise and a couple of scabs over the bone. He looked at it and hid it in his pocket. "What's it to you?"

"I'm asking you, what happened." George repeated for the third time.

"Knocked over a table, didn't I?" Ron lied. "Grazed it when I fell."

"I don't know, did you?" Ron narrowed his eyes. George clenched his fist. "I saw you, Ron. I saw you attack someone while I was playing Quidditch with Harry."

"She attacked me," Ron stated.

"No she didn't," said George patiently. "I saw you – you punched her in the face, spat in her face and kicked her when she was down. And now you're lying about it – to your own _brother_? I'm on your side, or have you forgotten that?"

"I don't see how this is any of your business. Stay out of it!" shouted Ron.

George bristled. His fuse was lit and the spark was travelling fast. The temperature in the corridor dropped and a cold gust began to gather, sweeping at his hair. Magic made the air grow thick and heavy; Ron began to wheeze slightly. "Excuse me?"

"IT'S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS WHAT'S GOING ON!" roared Ron, his face red with rage. "Stay the fuck out of it, George!"

"WHAT THE HELL IS YOUR PROBLEM?" George snarled. His chest began to burn; he heard Fred calling to him in his mind but he was too focused on Ron to hear what was being said. He felt his wings begin to strain, still hidden from sight, but they were starting to form, and he could feel it in his mind. His shoulder blades were starting to stretch. He couldn't be seen with wings. He couldn't let them break free.

Taking a bracing breath, he lowered his voice, but it wavered with constraint. "Either you tell me, or I'm bringing mum into this, and believe me, she'll get the truth out of you one way or the other."

"Keep her out of it," Ron hissed. "Just drop it, George. You might think you're better than me but you have no right to dig into other people's business. Now get out of my-"

"When my friends do something that they will be placed in danger for, I think I have the right to find out what's going on. You assaulted someone – who was it? Hufflepuff? Ravenclaw? _Gryffindor?_"

"Slytherin," said Ron.

"Liar," hissed George.

"How do you know? Huh?"

"For one thing, your face changed when I said Gryffin... it was Hermione, wasn't it? You assaulted her, it wasn't Malfoy. That bruise on her face, the injury on her wrist... It matches."

"She shouldn't have started going around with those Durmstrang boys," growled Ron. "She deserved it. They're-"

"You're jealous?" George couldn't believe his ears. The twins were at the front of all the latest gossip, but they'd never heard of Ron and Hermione dating. In fact Hermione had been showing interest in Cedric Diggory until the Durmstrang students had arrived. She'd been sitting in the library with Krum, talking about having to put up with someone, and they'd seemed pretty friendly to each other. Had she confided in Krum about her dealings with Ron? Or had he witnessed the assault take place?

"I'm not jealous – she should be going out with someone from Hogwarts, not with a bunch of foreigners." Ron said bluntly.

"You're telling me to stop getting involved in other people's affairs, but you're not exactly taking your own advice," growled George. "I don't think it really matters to you who she finds an interest in as long as they make her happy. What are you, a Malfoy now?"

"Don't compare me to them!" Ron snapped.

"Don't act like them!" shouted George. "If you had any common sense you wouldn't discriminate against anyone based on-"

Ron's fist connected with his chest. George stumbled and lashed out, batting Ron's arm away as he tried to get another hit. Pushing Ron's rising knee away, he felt an explosion hit his face and he dug his feet down, taking the force of the attack. It throbbed, but the sickening crack and the hiss of pain that Ron released told him that the stupid git had just broken his hand.

George lashed out, his years and experience as a Quidditch Beater shining through. By the time Ron managed to stumble back far enough to dodge a punch, he had already broken Ron's nose.

"I never thought you were stupid enough to take on a _Beater_ in a fist fight, Ron. Stop it before you get hurt!"

Ron snarled, reaching into his robes. He pulled out his wand. Perhaps it was the shock of his own brother doing it, or maybe it was the sudden rush of anger that he had started the fight to begin with, but George's fuse snapped at that moment in time, and all restraint ran straight for the hills.

"_Don't_ you _dare_ bring out your wand on me!" roared George.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ x ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Energy swirling around his chest disturbed Fred, but he patiently sat at the table waiting for George to return, his fingers skimming through the pages of the old, dusty tome. They had agreed to sit down and do a bit more research together into Runes, but George had stayed behind to corner Ron. It was probably just to ask him if he'd seen anything going on with Hermione so he hadn't questioned it – if Ron had seen something then he would feel less inclined to talk about it if both of them had been there.

Hermione was up studying in the library again and Wood had called Harry aside to talk to him about who he'd like to become the Quidditch Gryffindor Captain once Wood's final year was up. Wood had said he would do this; he didn't want to appoint a Captain that nobody would respect, or one who would get in over his or her head with the newfound power. While Wood did have a large ego when it came to flaunting his status, under him they had admittedly won a lot more games than under their previous Captain. That and Wood did really care for his team, even if he didn't show it often.

When Harry had gone down on his first game, Wood had almost had a heart attack from up in the posts, Wood would have blamed himself if he had sustained any injuries. He always did. Anyone who actually landed in the hospital wing, he'd send them a whole plethora of gifts and get well soon merchandise, and even try to smuggle in medicine – which Pomfrey would find and confiscate.

Sooner or later, though, Wood would have to leave, and they'd miss him. For being such a great sport, he and George planned to not only try their hardest in the final game, but they were going to set off so many fireworks while they were still in the air that it would be simply brilliant. Wood would remember it for years. And that's why they had to win.

The Fat Lady let out a shriek and flung open and George strode in looking... well, apocalyptic. The shouts of surprise and shock were deafening; people backed away from the expression on his face, while some rushed forward to find out what was wrong. Fred noted that Ginny opted to stand and stare, torn between the two.

Fred knocked his chair back and shouldered his way through the crowd to reach his twin. For a moment he just stared, not able to find any words, but his presence calmed George greatly, and a smile appeared on his face.

"I thought you were going to talk to Ron," he said after a moment.

"I did," said George simply. "He didn't think that talking would work. So I didn't either."

"_Ron_ did this?" choked Harry, fixing his glasses. "What did you say to him?"

George just shrugged. "Well, show's over. Nothing to see here. Except a handsome wizard."

Fred led him to the corner and sat him down near the fire, which flared as he put his hand to his brother's cheek, assessing the damage. George had a split lip and a swollen eye. Fred touched it and they were freezing cold. George didn't seem to feel it. He must've lowered his body temperature to reduce the blood flow and numb the pain.

"Talking didn't work, huh?"

"He swung at me first, broke his hand trying to give me a shiner. Then he tried to curse me, so I broke his nose and then his wand."

"He pulled his wand?" snarled Fred. "Where is he? I'll kill him."

"Bit late, Freddie," George said. "He's up in the hospital wing. Anyway, I think he's learned his lesson. Don't worry about it."

"I hope so," growled Fred. Nobody would hurt his twin and get away with it, especially not Ron. When he next saw the little runt, he would be lucky to still be walking.

"Calm," whispered George, placing his hand over the one on his face. "Seriously, don't worry about it. I've sorted it."

"_Episkey_..." he said, focusing his energy, and George's lip began to weave itself together. George didn't even flinch until Fred ran his finger over the scar and warmed it back up. It would disappear in a few minutes. "Any other injuries I should know about? He didn't hit you with the curse, did he?"

"Nah. He was unconscious before he hit the ground. Which reminds me, you haven't seen Hermione, have you?"

"She's up in the library. Why?"

"Just wondering. So, are we going to get started?"

"Sure. As long as you're finished beating people up."

"I might have one more on my agenda," warned George, dragging Fred into a headlock.

Fred choked and spluttered. "I thought you wanted to get started!"

"Did I say on the book?"

"No."

"Well then..."

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ x ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Hermione shook her head as she left the Great Hall, trying to make sense of the situation. How had Harry put his name into the Goblet of Fire without consequence? In fact, how had he even got past the Age Line? Dumbledore himself had drawn it, as well as put up several cheating sensors that would detect if someone older tried to put in someone elses' name. Out of simple academic curiosity, she had tried to find a way around all of the wards and sensors but had come up without any answers. There were no loopholes. It was foolproof. And yet it wasn't! So how had Harry managed it?

It was too late to ask him now. He was being interrogated by the three headmasters of Hogwarts, Beaubaxtons and Durmstrang up in Dumbledore's office. Everyone had been surprised, Dumbledore angered – even Harry had looked floored by the announcement. Did that mean he hadn't put his name in, or was he just putting on an act?

Someone must have lifted one of the security charms and slipped his name in, then bewitched the Goblet to release a fourth name. Hermione had no doubt that Harry was nowhere near strong enough to break through the wards, and Ron was just... well he had _no_ chance. Fred and George had said they would give it a shot, but they hadn't actually done anything. Or had they?

They'd been in the library a lot more as of late, going into the restricted section, taking out books. Fred had told her that it was for a project they would be taking and so she'd given them a pointer on books about magical-mythical creatures, but they hadn't taken any courses relating to any of the books she had seen them take out! Besides, they couldn't learn how to bypass wards and sensors through any of the books they had been reading.

And then there was the fact that the tournament was extremely dangerous. As much as they liked pranking people, they never did it if they thought someone was going to get hurt in the process. They would never endanger Harry like that – he was like a little brother to them. They had been pretty annoyed when she'd turned up bruised, and she had seen them looking her way whenever she walked down the hall, ready to pounce if anyone should so much as leer at her.

Apparently one of them had gotten into a fight the day before. Gryffindor Tower was practically buzzing with the news, and a few Slytherin students – Malfoy, no doubt – had been jeering at Ginny whenever they walked to class together. She wasn't really interested in that though because she had her own problems.

As soon as she reached the common room, she saw them in the middle of a crowd, throwing a small sparkling ball through the air and laughing. She was shocked when she caught sight of someone else sitting near the fire, grinning at the display.

"Professor Lupin?" she gasped, and as if hearing her over the crowd, he leaned forward and winked, and then got up and joined the twins, who were stood on various tables. Fred glanced at him, whooped and tossed it in his direction, and the teacher began juggling it between the three of them.

Gryffindor Tower echoed with chants and song for the next five minutes, until the ball finally decided it had had enough, and exploded like a very small firework. The three bowed, hopped off the table, and Lupin sat back down as they started advertising the fun little spark.

"Just remember, don't point it at anybody!" laughed Fred, having to hold the box high over his head to avoid the groping arms. "Hands off my chest, ladies and gentlemen!"

George, who was collecting payment and giving out tokens (so they knew who had paid and who hadn't), took one look at Professor Lupin and secretly flicked a small red and blue token to him, winking secretively. Lupin snatched it out of the air and nodded, and Hermione had the distinct feeling that Lupin was in on it somehow.

"They come in different colours and sizes – please, no shoving!"

Guilt had riddled her for the past few days since she'd taken the bruise-healing salve that the twins had given her. She hadn't wanted them to know about her other injury so she'd just taken it, but they'd been either going off on their own in secret or doing something, so she hadn't had a chance to give it back.

Now though, she could see their bags, open near one of the sofas. As carefully as she could, she slipped around the crowd and sat down, reaching into her bag to get one of the books she had taken from the library. Checking that they weren't looking, she pulled the tub of thick yellow salve from a side-pocket in her bag and placed it in one of their bags, hoping that she wouldn't be-

_Creatures of Legend by Sylvia Turncoat_

The book was old. Very old. It had a collage of mystical, magical and frightening creatures on the cover beneath the title. She recognised some of them; Vampire, Werewolf, Siren, Banshee, Basilisk, Chimera, Phoenix, Dragon (more specifically, the Hungarian Horntail)... but there were several she hadn't seen before, and some that she hadn't even known existed. There was one behind the title, a silhouette of a creature that had no distinguishable features aside from a long sweeping tail and almond eyes where its face could be.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She glanced up with the salve in her bag and saw Professor Lupin gazing at her thoughtfully. As quickly as she could, she pushed the jar into the bag and rose, heading for the door. As she passed, George smiled at her and nodded, and she blushed. They'd known she'd taken it and were thanking her for returning it.

With the book in mind, she headed for the library.

"Vait! Vat is rush?"

Krum, graceful in the skies but duck-footed on the ground, came striding towards her hurriedly. He looked tired and his precession of fangirls was not chasing after him, which meant he had given them the slip. Hermione stopped and waited for him to catch up.

"Hello, Krum," she smiled.

"Please, call me Viktor," greeted the Bulgarian. "Is pleasure to see you again, Miss Grey-ger." Taking her hand, he placed a kiss on it, and Hermione blushed. "Vhy you rush?"

"I'm heading up to the library," she said.

"Ah, perhaps I come with you? Need book on, uh, how you say...?" he paused to think for a moment, and then gave up. "Cannot find word. Just escape from crazy fan – am very tired."

Hermione smiled. "Perhaps I can help you," she offered.

Viktor nodded, his face flushed from running.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ x ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

"I said I'm sorry," snapped Ron, sitting on his bed, rubbing his stiff hand.

Fred would have decked his brother then and there had George not just asked him to ignore him and help him find his wand.

Ron didn't sound sorry at all and he knew it. He'd just got back from the hospital wing to find a Howler waiting for him, and as soon as he'd seen it, it had started fizzing, probably due to a proximity sensor someone had placed on it. He had opened it, expecting it to be from their mum, but it had suddenly sprouted a creative string of profanity at him, torn itself up and fallen onto his bed, finishing its tirade by forming a final rude gesture.

He seemed to think that the twins had done it, but they weren't stupid. They knew it had been Oliver Wood, who was currently glaring at his back with a triumphant smile from across the room, and turning away when Ron glanced over his shoulder at them.

Fred ignored Ron and began searching around their sleeping area, trying to find his brother's wand. Apparently the last place it had been was in his bag but it had vanished earlier on in the day. With twin wands that kept changing owners between the two of them, it could switch at any time, which meant that rather than George's wand missing, Fred's would be, and George would have his.

They both needed their wands to perform magic without raising suspicion. But who had access to their bags?

Hermione had earlier, but Lupin had been watching her, and so had George. She'd put the tub of paste back in but she hadn't taken anything out, and they'd seen it since then anyway. After that, they'd put their bags on their beds and gone down to have a shower. Anyone could have been in the room since then.

"_You don't think Ron's taken it, do you?" _asked Fred, glancing over to the red-head. _"He was here before we got back and he's acting pretty snippy."_

"_Of course he's acting snippy. I punched his bloody face in." _George pulled off his shirt and began scratching off a yellow paste from his chest. It flaked onto his trousers and he brushed it off and onto the floor. _"But I wouldn't put it past him."_

"_Can you feel your wand tugging?" _Fred waited as George stood up straight and searched. _"No, I can't feel it in here. He hasn't got it."_

"_Maybe he's hidden it."_

"Fred, George, Quidditch meeting in twenty minutes down in the locker room," said Wood. "Get your gear on, will you?"

"We'll be there," said Fred. "Is this about Harry not being able to play?"

There was a rule; any Quidditch player chosen to compete in the Triwizard tournament could not participating in the Inter-house Cup. That meant that they were down a Seeker, but Hufflepuff had lost Cedric, who was also a Seeker and Captain. They needed to find a replacement Seeker and fast, else they would have to play without.

"We have substitutes who could play the role of Beater and Chasers, but finding a decent Seeker isn't the same. You need to have sharp eyes, good balance, a fast broom... And unlike having two Beaters or three Chasers, there isn't anyone else to teach you how to play." Oliver paced the room, his anxiety filling the rest of the team with doubt. "I would have thought that Hufflepuff might have helped us, seeing as they like fair play, but not only would any win be thanks to them, a dent on Gryffindor's pride... we can't ask them because their own Seeker is out of play."

"So we need a player who can be a Seeker and someone to train them up. Why can't Harry do that in his spare time?" asked Alicia Spinnet, one of the Chasers.

"Because he's going to have no time now that he has to deal with the Triwizard Tournament, homework _and_ the Yule Ball," replied George. "We can't put that much strain on him – he's the youngest in our team. He'd crack."

"And he has to do the Triwizard stuff on his own without help without having to worry about Quidditch," added Fred, frowning. "There's a reason why you can't do both things at once."

"I'll be holding practice sessions every day after school for the next week," said Oliver. "Bring anyone you think could help. With that said, it's time we got out there and did some real practice. Grab your brooms and let's get going-"

_BANG._


	10. Lions and Badgers

Everyone jumped as the doors swung open and Cedric Diggory, Captain of the Hufflepuff team, stepped in dragging a struggling green-robed student by the scruff. As he shut the door behind him, he had a look of reserved annoyance on his face. As he shoved Malfoy towards the semi-circle of Gryffindors, he folded his arms and blocked the way out.

"Excuse the interruption, I just thought you should know that I caught him listening in on your meeting with his ear pressed against the door," said Cedric with a dangerous undertone in his voice.

McGonagall's lions all bristled. Malfoy backed towards Cedric, who again shoved him back. "So, Mr. Malfoy, would you care to explain what you were doing?"

"What's it to you?" Malfoy asked with a smug smile on his face. He didn't actually seem to realise the danger he was in. As if to enlighten him, Cedric pointed straight past the boy, straight at Fred and George, who both had their bats in hand. "I was just passing by."

"And you happened to get your head stuck, did you?" growled Oliver. "Now that it's unstuck, would you like to join our meeting? We were just about to discuss how we were going to defeat Slytherin in the upcoming game."

"Yeah," said Fred, hitting his hand with the bat eagerly. "We have a new strategy, you see. Take out the Seeker, that way it's even."

Malfoy whimpered and backed towards Cedric.

Cedric couldn't stand cheaters, and everybody knew that the Slytherin team cheated in every match they played, or broke rules where they could get away with it. Hufflepuff believed in playing fairly, so their main rivals were Slytherins. Ravenclaw did it too, every now and again, but they were smart enough to be subtle about it. They actually memorised the rules and looked for loopholes that could be exploited, and because Roger Davis, the Ravenclaw Captain, also believed in fair play, he pressed that onto his team.

"Malfoy, that's ten points from Slytherin. If you're caught again, it's twenty, and it'll keep doubling until you get it through your head."

Malfoy pushed past him and raced from the room. Cedric watched him go, took out his wand and cast a silencing charm. There should have been one before, but he had a suspicion that someone had actually taken it down.

"Thanks for that," said Oliver.

Cedric smiled well-naturedly. "It's no problem. I'm sorry if I interrupted anything."

"Oh no, we were just finishing up," said Oliver. "Is Hufflepuff using the field?"

"At the moment, which is also what I came to tell you. You can still use it; in fact, how about a friendly game off the record? I won't be playing, of course, since Harry isn't. If he wants to, then I can grab my stuff."

"What do you all think?" asked Oliver. A chorus of 'sure!' and 'fine by us' answered him. "Then it's settled. Standard rules?"

"Excellent," smiled Cedric. "We'll meet you on the field in ten. I'll go and see if I can't find Harry."

Cedric wasn't sure where to look for Gryffindor's Seeker, but he had a few ideas. The library, he could go there, or maybe to Gryffindor Tower. Now that Harry had been chosen as Hogwarts' second Champion, he would need some time to relax. Cedric knew he did, because after the party whereby Hufflepuff had congratulated him until their faces had nearly melted with pride and adoration, he had remembered that it was a Tournament that not everyone came out of alive.

He entered the library to see that it was nearly empty, with the usual scattered students studying for their O.W.L.S or just reading as a pastime. He weaved around the shelves but didn't see Hermione sitting in a corner of the library – he often saw her there, she had the thirst for knowledge as a Ravenclaw.

So he headed to Gryffindor Tower and scaled the spiral staircase until he came to the portrait of the Fat Lady.

"Excuse me, is Harry Potter inside?" he asked pleasantly.

The Fat Lady looked at him and picked him out as a Hufflepuff from the colour of his Quidditch robes. "You're not getting inside without the password!" she warned. "But yes, he's inside."

"Could I please speak to him? I have a message for him from Oliver Wood. It's rather urgent."

The Fat Lady eyed him sceptically, and then opened slightly. "...you're a Prefect, so I'll let you in _this once._ Maybe you can sort this out. This is the second time it's happened."

"Sort out what?" asked Cedric, but The Fat Lady said no more.

Harry was sitting with Hermione and Ron on one of the large sofas. Cedric had seen the inside of Gryffindor Tower once before but it never ceased to impress him. It was draped in crimson curtains with gold lining everywhere, it was a pure luxury that he preferred over his own dorm. Call it mutiny, but he preferred the warm reds and bright golds to the yellow and black of his own house.

As he neared, he could see cuts on her sallow, thin face and a few bruises, and she was shaking and dabbing at her eyes. Harry looked up as he stopped at their table and he suddenly wondered if it would actually be a good idea to drag him away. Now that he as already there, though, he would have to explain why a Badger had roamed into the Lion's den – and why the Fat Lady had let it happen.

"What are _you_ doing here?" growled Ron.

Cedric was taken aback, but hid it through a pleasant smile, and instead looked to Hermione. "Is she alright?"

"She's fine." Ron said. "Leave off it. You're a Hufflepuff, why should you care?"

"Ron, pack it in," Harry whispered, though through the warm stone tower, it carried easily. To Cedric, he added, "she's a bit upset, but she won't tell us why."

"I told you, it's nothing. I tripped and fell onto a table. Just leave me alone." Hermione sniffed.

Cedric observed her for a few long moments. There were wounds on the backs of her hands that were definitely defensive, and falling onto a table would leave one continuous injury, not an uneven one. Though a Prefect, if she wouldn't talk about how she had sustained those injuries, he would have to pull Professor McGonagall aside, or inform his own Head of House so that he could speak to the lioness.

"I've come to tell you that there's going to be a match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff," he said reluctantly, aware of Ron glaring at him. "I know we can't officially play so it's an off-record one, just for fun and practice between our Houses. Both teams are already geared up and ready to move out, so I came to ask if you wanted to join us, Harry, and play Seeker for Gryffindor. You two can come too, if you'd like."

"Er," Harry bit his lip and looked back to Hermione. "I don't know."

"Of course we'll come," said Ron, standing up. Cedric blinked and remained calm, despite the annoyance as he blatantly disregarded his friend's distress. "Come on, Harry."

Hermione got up, but only when Harry reached out and gently pulled her up. Ron led the way back downstairs and Cedric found himself hanging back, concerned for the young lioness.

Cedric walked with them as far as he could, and then he branched off to retrieve his broom before he rejoined them and escorted them up onto the empty spectator stand. As he looked up he felt a twinge of pride as he watched both teams exchange playful banter and even toss the Quaffle back and forth to warm up. He even noticed Madam Hooch circling overhead looking rather pleased, her whistle around her neck and eyes gleaming, dressed in black and white stripes. As he followed her with his eyes, he even noticed Professor McGonagall in the teachers stand, looking down at her lions with undisguised pride as they mingled with the Hufflepuffs.

She called Oliver over and the Captain flew as near as he dared, said something to him and then sit back down. Oliver flew over towards Cedric and Harry and said, "Professor McGonagall is inviting you both up to sit with her. You have a better view of the game from up there."

Ron immediately scampered off. Hermione stood but Cedric reached out to stop her, waving Oliver away as politely as he could.

"Listen to me. Those wounds weren't caused by falling; they're defensive. Have you been to the hospital wing?"

"I can't. If I do, it'll just get worse," sobbed Hermione.

Cedric reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. "If you're being bullied, it won't stop until you tell someone who can help you," he said softly. "If you're being threatened, we can protect you, and if you're in need... I know I'm no Gryffindor, but I'll be up in the library every Tuesday and Thursday after school at six o'clock, and I'll be patrolling after hours. I'll circle around the Tower a few times if you need to talk. Don't bottle it up."

Hermione sniffed and nodded, before walking towards the Teacher's stands.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ x ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Releasing the Golden Snitch and the Bludgers, Madam Hooch blew the whistle, threw the Quaffle high into the air, and the game began.

George swung around, keeping his eye on one Bludger while Fred went after the other. The Chasers moved swiftly; Angelina had snatched the Quaffle before Heidi Macavoy could swoop in. Anthony Rickett, one of the Hufflepuff Beaters, sent the Bludger towards Alicia, but Fred ducked out of formation and smacked it back towards Cedric, who was searching for the Snitch.

George could see it instantly; the golden orb whizzed behind the stands and flew up high. He followed it with his eyes for a few seconds before he rolled in mid-air, deftly avoiding being decked with the Quaffle.

"Sorry!" called Heidi, her chestnut brown hair blowing back over her head, and shot towards Oliver.

Neither of the Seekers had yet seen the Snitch, but George had seen his Bludger, and it was heading straight for Harry. Leaning forward on his broom, he tucked his bat towards his chest and shot forward to intercept, managing to clip it so it spun away from Harry rather than hit him.

Madam Hooch blew the whistle; "Heidi scores! Hufflepuff ten, Gryffindor zero!"

Cedric moved up.

For a moment George thought he'd seen the Snitch, but he chose to lean into a steep dive, and Harry, thinking he'd seen the Snitch, followed. It was obviously a ploy; the Snitch was still circling around far up, using the sun as a shield, but there was a very tiny glint. Cedric pulled up at the last moment; George batted a Bludger towards Malcolm Preece, a Chaser. Harry aborted the chase and shot over the stands so fast he nearly ripped up one of the banners.

"Angelina scores! Gryffindor ten, Hufflepuff ten!" called Madam Hooch, and there were cheers from the Teacher's stand.

George couldn't believe that they still hadn't seen the Snitch. It had flown down low now and was actually skimming the grass! Viktor Krum had joined the small audience and his eyes were latched onto it, he was tapping his fingers restlessly as if he were picturing himself catching it. Hermione was standing now, leaning forward, trying to get a better look.

A startled cry sounded from behind him; George spun, his bat poised, and Malcolm Preece (Chaser) was dangling from his broom, a Bludger flying away from him, his face bloodied. Maxine O'Flaherty, the other Beater, was busy trying to manoeuvre through Gryffindor's Chasers to get to Herbert Fleet, the Keeper, who was about to be punched from his broom by the other.

"Hang on!" called George, swapping his bat to his left hand, negotiating his broom through the oncoming wind. He reached down and grabbed Preece's wrist, dragging him back up onto his broom just as the Bludger swirled around and hurtled towards them. He switched hands again and batted it away towards Heidi, who ducked and dropped a few feet.

"Thanks," gasped Preece, nodding gratefully. "Didn't see it coming."

"Preece!" shouted Cedric, and George moved away to help Fred. "Do you feel disorientated or sick?"

"I'm fine – it nicked me, that's all."

Fred was being chased by the other Bludger, his eyes searching the skies, but he was laughing madly, causing George to laugh too. He flew up; the Bludger followed, and George dropped in behind him, following him upwards. Suddenly, on an unspoken signal, Fred somersaulted, rolled back, avoiding getting hit, and George felt bat meet ball as it tried to roll back on him.

"Angelina scores! Hufflepuff ten, Gryffindor twenty!"

Dumbledore and several other teachers and students had seen the progressing game through the window. The scores evened out at fifty and a few minutes later, George nearly leapt off his broom as he heard a thunderous roar: _"GO, GO, GRYFFINDOR!" _and another shouting, _"SHOW YOUR STUFF, HUFFLEPUFF!"_

All of the stands were full; there were badgers and lions, even a few ravens and snakes, and Lee's voice rung out, loud and clear: "And it's Hufflepuff fifty, Gryffindor sixty, as Katie Bell hurls the Quaffle through the hoop - and Cedric has seen the Snitch! Look at him go!"

There was a collective groanas someone went down, and Madam Hooch blew the whistle. "FOUL!"

Someone had thrown something from the crowd and Harry was on the ground, his broom lying a few feet away from him. He looked like he was in pain.

Oliver abandoned the hoop and flew down to see what was wrong. Cedric rolled away from the Snitch and doubled back, hovering overhead.

"Someone from the crowd has thrown something at Gryffindor's Seeker! It looks like he's down for the count!" shouted Lee.

"Harry?"

Harry struggled to his feet, looking dazed. He must have fallen at least a hundred feet – it was lucky that the pitch had been charmed to soften falls that would have otherwise been deadly. "I think I'm okay," he slurred, though as he reached for his broom, he nearly toppled over.

Oliver grabbed him before he could hit the ground and lowered him gently. Madam Hooch approached and, pulling out her wand, fired white sparks into the air. "Five minute time out for both teams!" she declared, and then she moved towards the crowd and began to kick out the offender – unsurprisingly, Goyle.

"Medic!" roared Oliver. "Damn it..."

George frowned. The Bludgers had stopped for the while, so they all moved in to surround their fallen team mate. "What do we do now? We're down a player. We don't have a substitute Seeker."

The Hufflepuffs approached and completed the circle of players.

"I'll back out," said Cedric. "It's only fair."

"Wait," said Fred. "What if we substitute one of the other players for a reserve, and swap in another Seeker? It won't be the same, but..."

"But this is an unofficial match," frowned Wood. "We can't expect someone to be ready on such short notice."

"_George, you've been watching the snitch, haven't you? You could do it."_

George looked to Fred, surprised. _"I... guess I could. But we need two Beaters, and I'm not exactly Seeker material. Our brooms aren't fast enough."_

"_So? Your eyes are sharp enough. It's just a bit of fun anyway."_

"Hufflepuff has a substitute Seeker – I can see him in the crowd. What if we ask him to come out and play for Gryffindor?"

Wood shook his head. "We appreciate the gesture, but Gryffindor does have its pride. It wouldn't be a victory for Gryffindor if a Hufflepuff were to catch the Snitch for us. We'll just have to-"

"No, wait," said Heidi before anyone could say anything else. Everyone turned to look at her. "Cedric, what if you bring in your Seeker, but have him play for us. George and Fred will be Gryffindor's Seekers, and they'll bring on thier substitute Beaters. That way we have full teams, plus an extra Seeker."

"It's all a bit of fun, isn't it?" smiled Rickett, backing up Heidi. From the beaming smile on his face, he seemed to harbour some sort of affection for her. "We don't have to play by the exact rules. I don't know if you've noticed, Wood, but they're already raring to go. Look."

Wood looked over to the Gryffindor bench, and sure enough, as if it was an actual game, there were two substitute Beaters and a Chaser-Keeper. He looked conflicted for a moment.

"We don't mind," said Fred helpfully. George smiled, backing up Fred, but they both disagreed with the plan. They both hated Seeking with a passion.

Madam Hooch blew the whistle. "Make a decision quickly!"

Cedric nodded at Wood to signal his approval of the plan. Hufflepuff was ready to begin with the plan – it was Gryffindor's Captain who needed to make the final call.

Wood took a bracing breath. "Katie, call on Harley and Rosewood. Take the twins' bats with you. Fred, George, one of you will have to use Harry's Firebolt. Yours are easy to turn with but nowhere near fast enough. Cedric, let's announce the new rules."

George landed on the ground and dismounted, and, to his surprise, Hufflepuff's second Seeker stepped onto the pitch. She was quite tall with brutally short black hair and narrowed dark green eyes. "If I use your broom, we both have a player who's fast and who can turn easily. I won't break it, so could I use your broom?" she asked cordially.

George handed it to her with a slight hesitation and picked up Harry's Firebolt. "Give it back at the end of the game, though," he said, and mounted Harry's Firebolt. He waited until she had mounted as well before he pushed off.

This new broom was much more responsive and quick from the get-go, George had to hold on tight as it nearly tossed him forward and over onto the floor. It felt odd without his bat; his hand itched to do something, to hold onto something, it felt empty with the broom in one hand and nothing in the other.

"Feels weird," he complained. "I prefer my broom."

He got used to the responsiveness quickly and saw a glint of bright metal in the corner of his eye. Fred must've seen it too but they daren't look. As friendly as the match with Hufflepuff was, they were still competing against each other. Just with them, they didn't have to worry about foul play.

Madam Hooch blew her whistle.

"This _unofficial_ game between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor will proceed with the following player substitutions!" she declared. "Both teams will proceed two Seekers; Hufflepuff: Cedric Diggory and Scarlet Roth. Griffindor; Robert Harley and Sylveo Rosewood will take position as Beaters, and Fred and George will be the Seekers. However, only one Seeker from each team may try to catch the Snitch at a time; whoever is closer has the chance."

With that, she blew the whistle, and the game began anew.

George, still slightly awkward on Harry's Firebolt, circled around the pitch once with Fred at his side. The Hufflepuffs were mirroring their movement from the other side of the pitch.

"_Go for it," _said Fred. _"You're faster. I'll distract them."_

Fred made a sudden movement and dropped into a Wronski Feint. As the two Hufflepuff Seekers dove and tried to see what he was aiming for, George shot up high, his body casting a massive shadow through the sun. He reached out with his arm; the Snitch zipped away, and he twisted to keep up the chase.

"AND WHAT A TEAM EFFORT!" screeched Lee as he watched Fred abort the feint. "_UNBELIEVABLE!_ The Weasley twins have split up, one causing a distraction, the other going for the Snitch! A brilliant tactic on such short notice!"

"Way to let them in on it," mumbled George, his bat-arm twitching. That stupid instinctive thought wouldn't go away; _you've dropped your bat! You've lost your bat!_ "Shut up, you bloody nag! You'll lose your bat when I'm done with you."

The Snitch seemed to be leading him on a goose chase, and he suddenly remembered why he hated Seeking. First, there was nothing to hit, which he _really_ needed right about now. Second, it was like a race, and that was effectively two competitions crammed into one. And then Harry's dumb broom wouldn't turn as he was used to, so he nearly crashed into Heidi as he tried to alter his course.

"_BLUDGER!"_

George turned and raised his bat-arm, groping the air, cursed and then flipped. The Bludger would have punched him straight into the stand if he'd been hit by it. Swinging himself around, he struggled to keep a grip, and muttered a stream of profanities as he barely avoided ripping off Dumbledore's beard.

...he started to laugh madly at the thought, and that seemed to be the pick-me-up he needed. Fred was racing Roth to the Snitch, but they had to stop short when the Chasers swerved to avoid them. It was like some sort of mad rally, and he must've said this to Fred through their link, because he had started laughing as well.

"And the Weasleys look like they're having fun! AND KATIE TAKES THE QUAFFLE!" commented Lee, and the two grinned at each other as George flew straight up after the Snitch.

"Hufflepuff seventy, Gryffindor ninety!" Madam Hooch called over the roaring crowds.

"_Fred, go on ahead. Shield your eyes and fly straight up towards the sun."_

The Hufflepuff Seekers seemed to have a growing idea of tactics, because rather than both fly after one Seeker, only Roth pursued Fred, and George found himself tagged by Cedric. The Snitch was racing against the horizon and swiftly changed course, heading towards the goalposts.

George accelerated until he was going as fast as he could go. Cedric was matching his pace, and he reached out with his hand, the Snitch fluttering just inches from his groping fingertips. George saw it flash and his eyes seemed to sharpen even more; he saw it's wings moving up and down briefly before it moved back to a blur, and then he broke off.

Cedric glanced back at him to see where he'd gone, missing the Snitch as it zipped down again. George nearly fell from the Firebolt as he twisted and clawed at it upside-down. The Firebolt was freezing to his hand - _"BLUDGER!"_

Sylveo Rosewood, a French pureblood who looked deceptively weak to be a Beater, pelted it towards Applebee, who dodged, but now his own Beater had hit a Bludger towards him, and there was nobody to save him from it. Fred dropped from the sky on his broom and purposely crashed into George, almost knocking them both off, but saving him from the hit.

Cursing, Fred shouted, "be _bloody_ careful!" at Rosewood, who looked sheepish.

"Thanks," gasped George.

"Alicia passes to Ange- Oh, and Heidi catches the Quaffle – she shoots- Wood saves! AND CEDRIC'S CAUGHT THE SNITCH!"

"Well, without Harry, we had no chance anyway," sighed Fred dreamily, his voice mocking. "Tell you the truth, mate, you're not a very good Seeker. But then, we are twins, so I guess neither am I."

George bumped his brother, affectionately punching his arm. "By the way, Freddie, I'm leaving the Seeking to someone who actually enjoys chasing after balls, and if you _ever_ set us up for it again, I'm using my bat to beat _your_ Bludgers."

Fred laughed, ruffling George's hair. "You're welcome, mate. Let's go congratulate the 'Puffs."


	11. Late Night Flight

Hermione turned and nearly bumped into Viktor Krum who was still staring at the twins, even long after the match had ended. They were playing a rather violent game of Bludger table tennis, laughing and cheering. His expression was unreadable, his eyes narrowed, but as Hermione shifted beside him, he looked up and then rose. "Vell, an impressive game. Kept me on toes," he said. "Is always this interesting?"

"Yes. Since Harry joined the Quidditch team, something pretty much always goes wrong," said Hermione, remembering all of the other games he'd played. He'd had his broom jinxed, a rogue bludger sent at him, had his arm broken... but all in matches against Slytherin. They just didn't seem to want him to fly – even in a match against Hufflepuff, they were still trying to kill him. "Gryffindor and Hufflepuff fight with a rigid sense of honour, but Slytherin always cheats. Ravenclaw tries to find loopholes in the rules but they're not all that dangerous. I saw you at the World Cup, by the way. Your flying was brilliant!"

Krum smiled. "Vell, I not like to brag, so I jus' say it is what I enjoy. Vinning is good but matters to be good sport also. In team I play, cheating gets... how you say... boot to da head? No, sorry, boot off team." Nodding towards Fred and George, he added, "They play Seekers before?"

"First time, I think. I haven't ever seen them Seeking before... but they're the Unbeatable Beaters of Gryffindor. The best we've had in years."

"They... decent," muttered Krum hesitantly, and Hermione knew he was trying not to offend her friends. Atrocious would have been more appropriate, but it was sweet that he was trying to spare her feelings. "Very, very good sight, good tactic, very bad moves. Not know even basics. Much too aggressive, dangerous, not good on fast broom... but good balance, much strength. I vatch, they no seem to like Seeking at all. I see Beating – very good. You call him Cedric? ...he good Seeker. Obviously experienced."

"Cedric is the best Seeker we have at the moment - aside from Harry, of course." Said a voice from behind – Professor McGonagall, who had also stayed. "When it comes to Chasers, I think Madam Hooch said that the awards go to Roger Davies, the Captain of Ravenclaw."

"I meet these people? See them play?" asked Krum interestedly. "Vill be good to meet players, maybe... we play training game together. _Maybe._"

"I think they would like it very much," said McGonagall, beaming. "Now, it's going to get very cold up here soon, so we best be heading inside."

Hermione followed them inside, but she didn't want to go back to the Tower. Instead she headed up to the library, her sanctuary, and paused.

_Creatures of Legend by Sylvia Turncoat_

That was the title of the book that the twins had been reading. Did they have a copy here, in the library? Madam Pince knew every book and had been inside so long she had actually memorised the location of every single one of them, so she would know, surely. At the very least she could find out what was inside of it that was an interest to Fred and George.

Madam Pince's office was literally a table and chair on the bottom floor of the library. She was sat there, as rigid as rock, and looked up as Hermione walked over. She was a thin woman, very irritable and snappish, who looked like an underfed vulture. She was hated by a lot of students because of her addiction to books, and the fact that if you so much as _looked_ at one, she whipped out a featherduster.

"Yes?" she sniffed.

"Good evening, Madam Pince," said Hermione pleasantly. "I was wondering if you could help me... I'm looking for a book."

"Of course I can help you," said Madam Pince sharply. "I _am _a librarian! What book are you looking for?"

"It's a book by someone called Sylvia Turncoat," said Hermione quietly. "I think it's called... Creatures of Legend."

Madam Pince looked scandalised. Hermione froze. "I have _no_ such book!" she seethed, and Hermione immediately knew she'd said something wrong. "No such book, you hear? You shouldn't be looking for such an item – out! _OUT!_"

Hermione barely got through the door before the feather duster was upon her, batting at her hair. Embarrassed, she huffed and straightened out her robes, and then felt angry.

That was the first time she'd ever been kicked out of the library.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ x ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Fred couldn't sleep. After climbing into bed and staring at the opposite wall for half an hour, he was bored out of his mind. The back of his mind that could sense his wings was itching at him, and he longed to spread them wide. His back was aching and he wanted to escape. To have a thrill. To breathe in the wind, but to have someone with him when he did.

Looking to his twin, he allowed his eyes to sharpen and take in George's body in the moonlight. George's face was curtained in strands of liquid fire; his body cold beneath the blankets, but his face was relaxed. They both slept shirtless – the fabric stretched over their backs tricked them into thinking that their wings were tied even if they weren't, and even if they weren't actually there.

Fred missed being able to fly with George outside the Burrow, but everyone was asleep, right? Nobody would notice if the twins snuck out. They did so on enough of a basis that it never looked suspicious... but that had been a time when they hadn't had to worry about being found out. They could go to the Forbidden Forest – that would be a fun experience!

"_George!"_

George opened his eyes a fraction.

Fred shook him awake. "_George, let's go flying."_

Surprisingly, George just grinned, chasing the sleep from his eyes, and nodded. Apparently he couldn't sleep either.

"_I've been thinking the same thing,_" he told Fred as they slipped out of their beds and padded downstairs. _"I was just worrying about the consequences."_

"_So what changed your mind?" _asked Fred as they opened the nearest window.

George smiled. _"The desire to have some fun. I've been thinking for the past hour that we're probably not going to be seen unless we fly around Hogwarts, so I figured we just fly through the Forbidden Forest, maybe stop at Black Lake and tickle the Giant Squid..."_

"_I love the way you think."_

Basked in firelight, the two twins touched their chests and closed their eyes, feeling the power swell through their bodies and gather as bright, flaming wings. Bone formed from mist; the fire from the warmth they held for each other and the connection that they shared, and the power that surrounded them was hot like flame and cold like ice. Fred's wings were a deep crimson, touched with charcoal black and releasing crackling cinders, while George's were an enchanting turquoise, airbrushed with white, dripping snowfall.

When they opened their eyes again, they were glowing. Fred was the first out of the window, kicking off with one foot and stretching his fiery wings wide, the pseudo-avians ascending into a steep climb with his twin streaking after him. The night wind was filled with frost and dew that strengthened George's power slightly and made Fred shiver with anticipation.

"Ah, I've missed this!" laughed Fred, his eyes gleaming. "It's not the same as Quidditch, is it?"

"Nope," purred George, spinning in lazy circles. The wind arced around his spine and tickled his feathers, making his wiggle and snort. He flew up even higher and rolled so that he flew upside-down, his bare chest feeling the touch of the midnight frost.

When they reached the Forbidden Forest, they dimmed their bodies as much as they could before coasting beneath the tree line and weaving amongst the trees. It was challenging, having to fly with their wings half folded, and it slowed them down considerably, but didn't detract from the fun. In fact it made it more interesting. They stopped in a clearing after half-an-hour of non-stop flying and mid-air wrestling. It was nearing midnight. They were about to sit down when they heard a distant screech from nearby, and the two froze in their tracks.

"_What the hell was that?"_

"_Sounded like a … surely not..."_

Creeping through the trees, they glided so far around the perimeter of the forest that the castle and the lake were out of sight, and then landed again. Men were shouting, there was a roar so loud that the feathers on their wings bristled. Four enormous dragons... wild, untameable, full-grown dragons. They were thrashing against ropes, shooting flares fifty feet into the air.

There was a magnificent silvery-blue one with long, pointed horns, snapping and snarling at wizards on the ground. It had a long, winding neck that was bent at a very sharp angle and a short tail.

The second was smooth-scaled and green, and it seemed elegant, but it was stamping and writhing with all its might.

A red one with an odd fringe of fine gold spikes around its face; it had no wings, but had a hide so thick that they doubted anything could get through it. It fired off furious mushroom-shaped fire clouds into the sky, and yanked against its holder once. Its snout was short and squashed against its face.

And then, a gargantuan black dragon that looked more lizard-like than the others, nearest to them, which had narrowed golden eyes. It had been the one they had heard. It was emitting a yowling, screeching scream that made them both recoil. There were seven to eight wizards at each one trying to keep them under control, but the black one seemed to be thrashing the most.

"Charlie!" Fred whispered in alarm. "Near the fence, George – look!"

Charlie had long red hair and a look of steely determination about him as he wrestled with the massive black dragon. His long ginger hair swirled about his shoulders and he gritted his teeth as the chains twisted in his grasp. For a moment, pain registered in his eyes, and then confusion as the dragons began to calm.

Fred and George were singing softly. Neither had too much awareness that they were doing it; they saw the dragons, saw the pain and confusion, the anger... the lyrics were in a strange, forbidden language, and they didn't even know what they were singing about, but it just felt right. It was like some deep rooted instinct rising out of the depths of their subconscious. But George remembered it.

They'd sung before. Not this particular song, but similar ones. They'd sung at the Burrow from time to time after sneaking out. Hermione had said that he'd been humming a tune when she'd been upset.

It seemed to calm the dragons though. They all turned their heads towards the sound, groaning softly. The dragon tamers all began to look around, and they heard Charlie mutter something under his breath as the others guided the great beasts inside. The dragons didn't notice or didn't care, they couldn't tell. But suddenly there was a noise to their right; they stopped abruptly, regaining their senses, and took off into the forest.

"Stop!" shouted whoever had crept up on them.

After a minute of running, they were about to take flight when someone landed in front of them, and George's cold blood ran even colder.

Stood there, a bow and arrow raised in readiness to attack, was Firenze. One foreleg was half-raised and his wild shock of dark brown hair had a few leaves and small sticks snagged in it. The centaur's electric blue gaze was trained on them, wide and filled with horror. He lowered his weapon slowly, taking in their appearance, and seemed to mouth a word that they didn't understand.

Fred and George remained poised to attack. They knew that they had to get out of there before someone else saw the light of their wings – they could see flickering shadows in the distance, and knew that if they got captured, the game would be all over.

Firenze remained frozen.

They had just given away their most well kept secret.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ x ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Lee Jordan understood why the Weasley twins were avoiding him, why they grew annoyed with him and left him out of their pranks. Ever since he'd been caught on the train with Angelina and they'd started dating, he'd found out that Fred had been interested in her, and that had caused a rift between them. George, although loyal to his friends, would always choose Fred over him. Always. There was no third door; if he had to choose between Lee or Fred, or Harry or Fred, the answer would always be the same.

Fred.

As he watched them slip out of the dorm on some unspoken signal, he knew that they were as close as anyone could ever be. Ordinarily he would have gone out after them, knowing them to be initiating some prank, but this time he stayed lying on his bed, staring up at the privacy curtains around his four-poster bed.

They didn't understand why Angelina had chosen to go out with him. In his own defence, they had never bothered to ask. His relationship with Angelina was... difficult. Strained. Rather than being based on the fact that he was cute and funny and she was beautiful and clever, it was based mostly on pity.

And that was never a good thing for a relationship to develop on.

The kiss they'd been caught sharing had been a mistake, it was never meant to happen, they'd both agreed that it was a spur of the moment action.

At the World Cup, his father had placed a bet with Ludo Bagman and he had lost. A lot. They were on the verge of losing their house, their possessions, and his parents had just filed for divorce.

Fred and George... they might have known what to do. They could have cheered him up, but he'd been spiralling into depression and the innocent pranks he'd used to play had ground to a proverbial halt. His last one had nearly ended someone else in the hospital wing – he'd not meant it, but he played by a principle taught to him by the twins, that if it's going to hurt someone innocent, or its founded on anger, you shouldn't do it. You shouldn't do anything. Fred often got himself into that predicament and it was George that calmed him down – god help them when it was George's turn to get angry. Fred was usually exploding with rage at that point. Who would calm George down?

Everyone else was asleep. Harry had been sneaking out as of recent as well – he'd done it a few times over the past three days. When Ron had come back covered in bruises, and Lee had heard that George had beaten up his own brother, he'd very nearly had a heart attack.

Since when do Weasleys turn against each other?

And since when did Ron act like a prick?

He'd been meaning to warn Harry, but he'd not got the chance. Ron had been hanging out around Malfoy, he'd overheard them talking about making a deal, except he'd almost got caught. He'd had to set off a dungbomb in order to escape – he'd ran straight into Filch, but he was worried.

What was Ron planning? Why would a lion be hanging around with snakes?

_Why had he changed?_

Rolling over onto his side, he pulled the covers up over his shoulders and tried to push away these thoughts. Any day now the lawsuit would come through – who would Lee have to live with? His mother? His father? Custody rights usually went to the mother, but Lee was afraid. His mother usually dealt with stress by drinking – she was already a heavy smoker. She'd recently lost her job. His father was a bit of a gambler, which is how they'd landed in this mess, but who had a perfect family?

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ x ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Charlie wiped the sweat from his brow as he handed his shift over to the other dragon handlers. As he sat down on one of the logs around a camp-fire – one of the dragons had very kindly started it, they'd decided to use it rather than put it out right away – he reflected on the long night's work.

Transporting several dragons from Romania was difficult work. The paperwork he'd had to fill out already would pale in comparison when the Triwizard Tournament actually started.

"Gonna be a rough few weeks," said a man who's voice sounded distinctly like a growl. A steaming mug was pressed into his hands and he looked up to see Maverick Johnson, one of the senior dragon handlers, and Charlie's mentor. He had dark skin, hair down to his shoulder blades what was tied back in a loose ponytail. "How're ya doin', Rookie?"

"Fine," said Charlie with a grateful smile. The scent of hot chocolate rose up from the mug; he inhaled the mouthwatering scent and made a space for Maverick to sit down on. "Bit tired, but that's to be expected after dancing with a Hungarian Horntail, isn't it?"

Maverick chuckled. "It sure is," he said. "I liked the way you handled yourself out there. Very calm and professional. I'm impressed."

"Thank you, Mav'. It means a lot to me." Charlie had to say something. His chest felt like it would burst with pride. It was difficult to pry a compliment out of Maverick, which only made his victory taste even sweeter. But there was something on his mind... something he didn't understand. "If you don't mind me asking... why did the dragons suddenly calm down?" asked Charlie, sipping at his drink. "I thought I saw something at the edge of the woods... something glowing like fire... whatever it was, it was singing."

"We all heard it. Beautiful song," said Maverick casually, reclining on the log, leaning on one arm. "You're good with animals – you tell me. What do you suppose around this forest could possibly calm a raging pair of nesting female dragons?"

Charlie bit his lip and shook his head. What lived in this forest? Herds of Centaur, Hiffogriff, Thestrals, Acromantula (according to Hagrid)... Nothing that would produce such an ethereal song. The only thing that could do that would be a phoenix, but as far as he knew, the Forbidden Forest wasn't the right kind of habitat for them.

"Dumbledore has a Phoenix Familiar doesn't he?" Charlie remembered it from his days in Hogwarts. Fawkes used to land on his arm, but what would Fawkes be doing out in the forest?

Maverick smiled. "Must be. I can't think of anything else. Phoenix song has magical properties, I'd say one could do it."

They talked for a while later until the embers died down and the sky began to lighten ever so slightly. They were joined by a few of their colleagues, but once exhaustion began to set in, Charlie opted to go for a quick walk around the edge of the forest before he slept.

As he got to the point where he'd seen the blinding light, his eyes roamed and he searched for something amongst the foliage. Old branches crunched beneath his thick dragon-hide boots and he dragged his foot over the ground. Something small caught the corner of his eye – a stick leaning up against the tree, right where two sets of feet had once stood, judging by the broken trees. Living around the sanctuary had given him a skill for tracking wild animals – particularly dragons. The tracks left were... human. One of the sets was as dry as the summer sun, even a little scorched along the tree, but the other was damp – too damp to be frost.

Whatever it was, it had not been a Phoenix, but it sang like one.

He reached down near the tree and picked up the odd-shaped stick. As he brightened his _Lumos_ and tilted the object, he discovered that it wasn't a stick, but a wand. A wand shaped like a broomstick...

A wand he recognised.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ x ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Fawkes stared down at the body of her human Familiar, silently guarding him while he slept. For someone who had lived as long as he had, he still had a heart that was young and strong. She'd heard the song and knew what it meant, knew who had sung it, and knew the reason why. Phoenixes were creatures of fable and mystery and not everything was known about them. Only that they were immortal, their tears could heal and restore strength, they embodied the elements (Fawkes was born of fire), and that they were peaceful, gentle, honest creatures.

Dumbledore was growing old. Wizards generally did live long lives when undisturbed by war or famine, but Dumbledore was reaching his end. Ever since he had reached the ripe old age of ninety-seven, he'd started requiring Fawkes' tears to help his body stay strong.

_Your time in this world is ending, _thought Fawkes, looking wistful. _My tears could sustain you for countless more years, but humans are not meant to live forever. Only those Blessed may have that option, but it is nothing more than an eternal Curse... watching those around you die while you continue to survive and be reborn... You have no idea how lucky you are._

_Or how unlucky those two are._

Fawkes gazed up and out of the window longingly. What she would give to die...

She had lived for many, many years and seen all sorts of horrors and tragedies, healed all sorts of injuries and lived a thousand lifetimes. She had seen people grow, watched them die, watched Phoenixes of various risings Burn and then Rise. She had even been the Familiar of a Rune, once... interesting young lad, even when the pressure of watching the world go by had driven him to madness. He was the only one to have successfully killed himself a hundred times in a week. Or attempted to, anyway. Fawkes had found a sense of sick amusement in watching him struggle with his own immortality. She had no idea what had come of him. She'd flown south and settled down for a while after that, tired of his insanity. That was why Phoenixes were so hard to tame. They learned after a time to distance themselves from their emotions, but there were some who decided to care every now and again. Fawkes was one of those Phoenixes.

Albus had found her after Burning. She had been a vulnerable young chick who'd been found in an abandoned, smoking nest not too far from his summer home. He'd been a child at the time, but he'd taken care of her, talked to her, watched her grow and figure out what she was... his childhood hadn't been particularly happy, but at the end of the day this nine year old boy would come to her hiding place and talk to her about his day, and she couldn't help but care, the hormones of puberty rushing through her, giving way to the damned motherly instinct. If she'd have been fully grown before then she wouldn't have stayed around, but now she had a purpose, even if it was growing to an end and another one taking its place. Besides, she had made him happy. His _Patronus_ was based on her. She had given him inspiration, given him hope, memories that nobody else had. He had created the Order of the Phoenix after her – a bit stupid, really, seeing as how Phoenixes were meant to be peaceful but the Order was formed to fight, but she never told him that, but what the heck.

He cared about her, and she cared about him. It would be a tough decision, but she would care about him enough to let him pass on.

_You can't deny it, my friend. Sometimes you really can be a barmy old man._

Dumbledore chuckled in his sleep.


	12. Decisions

Fred swallowed the lump in his throat, his folded, flaming wings twitching with unease. Firenze hadn't moved an inch, and for a moment they swore he'd stopped breathing altogether. Backing towards George, he began to think that maybe Firenze wouldn't notice if they just flew away, but another thought made his heart skip a beat.

What if he told someone else? They needed to make sure he didn't.

"The planets have spoken true," whispered Firenze, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. "I told them they would, but did they listen?"

"What?" George choked out.

"I knew that we would meet," said Firenze, louder this time. "It was only a matter of time... though I hadn't expected it to be you. You shouldn't be so far from Hogwarts."

The twins remained silent. Fred wasn't sure whether he should be angry, suspicious or scared.

Firenze took a few steps forward. "You don't know what you are, do you? You're confused, frightened, lost... If you follow me, I can teach you more about yourselves."

Fred looked at George. "How do you know what we are?" he asked, his tone carefully guarded. "_What_ are we?"

"Your species is human, but you are not. You're both Phoenix Runes, granted with the power of Fire and Ice, and from the symbols indented on your chests, you were Blessed by Hermes." Moving slowly, Firenze inched even closer, his eyes tracing over their wings. "Books can only tell you so much. I have a much quicker way, a much safer, secret way to give you the information you need." Looking towards the sky, he frowned. "But the sky is growing lighter... you must go. Think about what I have said – if you want to learn more, meet me at the Lake in three days at sunset. You have my word I won't speak of this to anyone."

Looking around cautiously, the Centaur doubled back and cantered into the trees, heading back to his herd.

For the next two days, the twins didn't talk to each other about the encounter with Firenze, but everyone could tell that they were nervous about something. They were louder and more active than usual; they set off fireworks in the Great Hall during lunch, danced through the common room in their pyjamas and tried to start a pillow fight with Peeves. This resulted in Peeves trying to attack Snape with a pillow during morning staff meetings, and rushing through the library screeching at the top of his lungs, which in turn set off Madam Pince, who had to be dragged away for her own good.

They both didn't mention it because they already knew what they were going to do. They were going to meet Firenze and find out what he had to say.

As they settled down for Transfiguration, they didn't seem to be listening to a word that Professor McGonagall was saying. After the title they just switched off and waited until everyone started moving around them, which was when they would ask what they would be doing. Both had always been proficient in Transfiguration so they weren't worried about it too much.

Fred busied his restless hands by tearing a piece of parchment into very tiny pieces and piling them up on his desk. George, sitting beside him, was tapping a lazy rhythm on the desk. They left a few minutes after everyone else and, rather than spend their free study hours in the dorm, they took the One-Eyed Witch Passage and wandered around Hogsmeade.

"Butterbeer?" suggested George.

Fred nodded his approval.

Hog's Head was an old pub that looked as filthy as an abandoned warehouse room – there was grime plastered over the windows so thick they couldn't be seen through. It was small with only a handful of patrons and an old wizard sitting at the stall, looking positively miserable. There was someone sitting next to the seats they usually took, who appeared to be speaking to the pub owner, and he was wearing a hood. There was a letter in his hands with smudges running down that looked suspiciously like tear tracks.

The twins moved to take their seats and the hooded figure doubled over, sobbing onto the cracked old counter, the letter crumpling in his hand. Sitting awkwardly beside him, Fred made a gesture with his hand to the owner, who waddled off to get them the usual.

"You okay, mate?" asked George, and Fred bit his lip uneasily. George, sensitive to the emotions of others, couldn't let someone just sit there and cry. He was poised and ready to attack as George rested a hand on the sobbing person's shoulder and started rubbing it in circles.

Both were surprised, though, when Lee Jordan lifted his head and stared at them through swollen eyes. "F- Fred? G- G- George?"

George blinked a few times as if he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. Slowly, he nodded and draped his arm over Lee's shoulder. "What's wrong?"

Lee shook his head and just started sobbing again, gasping words out in a string that made no sense whatsoever. George reached for the letter in his hand, tugging it gently. Lee surrendered it without protesting and Fred watched apprehensively as George straightened out the note and began reading it.

George paled and looked at Lee helplessly, passing the note to Fred. "It'll be alright, mate. It'll be okay..."

Fred felt sick as he read the letter.

_Lee,_

_I don't have much time to write so I'll keep this short and sweet. I'm staying with a friend now and I have some bad news. The divorce has come through; your mother and I are not together any more. The house and everything we own is gone and the custody battle isn't looking good. It might take a while longer to get a verdict – I've heard from your mother's sister that not only has she hit the bottle again, but she plans on taking a restraining order out on me if she wins in court, which means I won't be able to see you. Not legally, anyway._

_Look, I'm sorry I placed that bet against Ludo – I thought since he works with the Ministry he would stay true to his word, but... he's blackmailing me. He and his sister will claim that I've done horrid, illegal things, and then they definitely won't let you live with me. I cannot take him to court. My job is good but without a house... I'm afraid you might have to prepare to stay with your mother when this school term ends at Christmas._

_I'm doing everything I can. Don't give up just yet. I'll find some money and buy a house for us – you'll see._

_I love you, son,_

_Dad_

Fred lowered the letter down gently and stared at Lee. Guilt and shame riddled him. They'd practically ignored him, his two best friends, for the entire term so far. It they hadn't, they would have heard about this before. It had only been because of his relationship with Angelina that they'd dismissed him as part of their team, and when had they been seen together? They'd not been seen in the corridor together in weeks, nor had they spoken to each other.

"M- my mum... s- she dr- drinks a lot. I- I- If I have to go and l- live w- w- with her, she's g- going to..." Lee sobbed into George's shoulder.

Though it was a short term solution, George said, "well, why don't you just stay at Hogwarts this Christmas? Fred and I – we'll stay too, keep you company. Mum won't mind."

Fred nodded. "Or you could stay with us. You know, mum always likes it when we bring friends 'round – she likes you a lot."

Lee sniffed and pulled away, shaking his head. "A- And what then? I can't run f- from it forever. I- I can only stay with my d- dad if he gets a h- house."

"Well he has a job, hasn't he? How much does he get paid?" asked Fred.

Lee buried his face into his hands. "Not enough," he cried. "Not enough to get a house in such short time. Bagman completely wiped us out."

Ludo Bagman. Fred and George looked at each other with matching frowns. Harry had warned them both about betting with him, saying that there were too many conmen. If they had gone ahead with it and betted their savings, the same thing could have happened just as easily to them. Their parents would have killed them. They'd be roaming the streets in debt...

"_What do we do, Fred? Lee doesn't deserve this. If his mother really has hit the bottle... He can't live with that."_

"_I don't know, George. We can't ask mum and dad to spare a few Galleons – we don't have any to spare ourselves. We can't just go out asking Percy, Bill or Charlie either."_

"_Why not?"_

"_'Cause Perce's a git, Charlie's going to need it travelling back to Romania and Bill... We can't ask Bill to bail out Lee when he's hardly ever met him."_

George sighed. _"Well what else can we do? What if we give him some of the money from our savings? Just enough to buy or rent out a house."_

Fred grimaced. _"We've spent a lot of hard hours working up our life savings, George. I know Lee is in trouble but we can't rent out a building in Diagon Alley if we're going to keep being generous. His father's the one who got him into this mess in the first place by gambling. We need another way..."_

"_And it's not his fault his family just got destroyed and Bagman screwed him over, is it? The best chance we had was to trick our way into the Triwizard Tournament and try to score the gold, but it's too late for that. I don't see how we can help out our best mate if we aren't willing to drop a few Galleons."_

Fred stared at his Butterbeer, unable to come up with any other solutions. Would Professor Dumbledore let Lee live permanently at Hogwarts? But then, how long would the court case last for, and where would his father live? Would the court even accept that as a house?

"Excuse me, Mr. Dumbledore, you wouldn't have a quill and piece of parchment, would you?" he asked.

Aberforth looked under the counter. "Sorry," he said after a moment.

"A fork, then? And a strip of old newspaper?" he asked, biting his lip. It was an odd request to make but he didn't care. Aberforth passed him an old rusty fork and an old newspaper clipping, and with a flick of his wrist Fred had transfigured them into what he needed.

"_What're you doing?"_ asked George quietly.

"_Creating doors,"_ said Fred frankly, scribbling on the piece of parchment. _"If we're going to get Lee a home, we need money, and the quickest way to do that is through sponsors. People pay us to prank others, starting with..."_

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ x ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

As soon as George put up a notice on the board, people flocked around to see it. Their popularity earned them a large audience at the gathering of lions just before bed, and they immediately started raking in money when they told of their first plan. There was a box labelled innocently as 'charity' placed in the common room, glued there with a sticking charm so that it couldn't be removed or the lid taken off. People would anonymously drop in their suggestions in little envelopes as to what they wanted done and with a donation. When they were asked, the twins simply stated that it was for supplies for future joke items.

McGonagall wasn't suspicious until the next morning, Professor Dumbledore walked in a little late with the twins striding proudly behind him, their heads held high. Dumbledore looked extremely amused, his beard decorated with tinsel, little candy canes striped in Gryffindor colours, baubles and even a couple of flashing lights. There was even a little Santa riding on a broomstick flying about his head shouting _ha-ha-ha_.

She glared at the twins, who just shrugged fearlessly.

"Merry belated Christmas," they said in unison, bowing as Dumbledore walked to the staff table with all eyes on him. There were nods of approval from all around, laughs that were poorly disguised as coughs... even the Beaubaxton and Durmstrang students seemed a bit confused. They sat down and were greeted with laughs, pats on the backs and inquiries as to how they'd got Dumbledore to agree with their plan.

Professor Sprout found this to be an innocent but humorous act, until students flooded into her Herbology class, stinking of dung-bombs and shouting that somehow Peeves had gotten through to the common room and started hurling them everywhere.

"But Professor-" said Fred as Professor Sprout tracked them down in the Great Hall at lunch and rounded on them.

"-they're good fertiliser for the plants."

The Head of Hufflepuff looked briefly confused as to how they knew about the plants, and then gave up trying to punish them. To be fair, they did have a point. And to top it all off she realised that it had been Peeves that had broken into the Hufflepuff common room, not the twins, so technically she had no proof.

The day continued to be eventful, and by the time the sun began to set, the twins had vanished from sight. They'd stopped by the common room to empty the donations box and stash the money away but hadn't said a word as they ran out of the common room – though George did try to put a Headless Hat on Harry before they left. He missed and ended up getting Sylveo Rosewood in the face, and Sylveo let out a stream of curse words in French as he stumbled around with the hat over his head, looking like some masquerading crow doctor.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ x ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

They'd been waiting for half an hour in anxious silence, not daring to break the silence. They sat with their legs to their sides, leaning on their thighs, preening each other's wings to make them look semi-presentable. If they were caught outside of Hogwarts making noise (Hagrid frequented the Forbidden Forest, it was like a second home to him) then they would not only miss their meeting with Firenze, but they would get into a lot of trouble.

Well, they didn't care so much for the trouble. Ever since their first year they'd snuck into the Forbidden Forest and got caught several times. Dumbledore and Hagrid had even tried to keep them out but they always got around wards and found ways past charms, stumping the great headmaster himself. Now they knew the reason why. Or _a_ reason why.

Rust gold turned to crisp shades of royal blue, and the sky was almost completely black before they considered abandoning their mission and heading back to the castle. Earlier that term they'd told Neville that he wouldn't get a date to the Yule Ball if he gave up so easily, and the same advice they'd spoken then rung in their ears. It was easier to say than do, and George got the sense that maybe Firenze wouldn't turn up.

But then they heard a rustle in the bushes. Leaping to their feet, they readied their wings to take off, keeping their thermal vision locked onto the figures stepping out of the undergrowth. One of them was definitely Firenze, but there was another Centaur with him, and another beside that.

"_Is this a trap?"_

A Centaur with brown skin, skin tight against his face and night black hair pushed his way out of the bushes. Firenze padded out after him, and then there was a black Centaur, flat-nosed but broad-shouldered with dark honey-coloured eyes. His black hair was wispy and short and he looked intelligent and wild as well as powerful.

"There they are, Magorian!" whispered Firenze to the brown Centaur.

The three cautiously approached. Fred and George looked at each of them warily.

"This is the leader of my herd," said Firenze, smiling reassuringly. "Magorian. And Bane, our strongest fighter. You have nothing to fear from us."

"We Centaur distrust humans," grumbled Bane carefully. "We are sworn not to set ourselves against the heavens, but... if Firenze's word is true..."

"Prove to us that you are what you say you are," Magorian commanded sternly.

Fred and George huffed. They never liked authority – Magorian seemed more bossy than anything, and that was something they didn't like. Bristling, Fred growled and summoned the fire to gather at his fingertips. Power swelled deep within him; George's eyes began to glow with anger and he fired a stream of fire-like ice past the Centaur, where it struck a tree and froze it solid. Hermes' marking was engraved and glowing on their chests, indented slightly in crystal. All three Centaur took a step back.

"I see," Magorian said thickly.

"Phoenix Runes," said Firenze.

Bane narrowed his eyes. "With the markings of Hermes. Well well, Firenze, it seems you're not so crazy after all."

"You said you'd help us," growled Fred impatiently.

"And we will," replied Magorian. "We must not set ourselves against the heavens, so we must do what we hate most and help the young of the humans. Come, we will take you where you need to be."

"We're not exactly humans any more," said George. "Born of them, yes, but apparently not one of them."

"That is not important," snapped Bane. "Hurry up and follow us before Hagrid finds us. I suspect from your reaction when we arrived, and from what Firenze has told us, that nobody yet knows... Magorian, if they walk through the forest glowing like fireflies they will attract unwanted attention."

"We do not have time to walk," said Magorian, his ear twitching. For a moment he seemed to consider something, and then he sighed. "Firenze, you once carried that boy on your back. You will carry one – Bane, you take the other."

"But they're human!" Bane protested furiously. "I will _not_ carry a human on my back!"

"They're not human, they're Rune." Reiterated Magorian impatiently. "There's nothing against carrying Rune. They're sent by the thing we live to serve – you should be _honoured_."

Bane glared at his leader and looked ready to unleash a torrent of abuse, but decided against it. Grudgingly, the ebony Centaur knelt down in front of George, and Firenze by Fred. "Get on – and if you try anything, I'll rip you to shreds."

"_Giddy up horsey! La la la la la..." _thought George mockingly, tipping his head from side to side, as he settled on Bane's back. Fred guffawed and carefully wrapped his arms around Firenze's waist, careful not to do anything suddenly. Bane growled as George did the same, but shivered against the coldness of his skin.

"Come!" ordered Magorian, and they charged into the forest.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ x ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

"Maverick, now that the dragons are settled down, I'd like to go to Hogwarts for a quick family visit." Charlie Weasley called over as his mentor began his shift. He would be effectively watching the dragons sleep for the next eight hours and ordering the other tamers with lesser experience and rank to clean up after them. It wasn't a very desirable job but it needed to be done.

Maverick lit up a cigarette, took a drag and puffed out a ring of smoke. "Go ahead, Rookie," he said, blowing away the ring and stuffing the box back into his pocket. "God, I really should quit this, you know. I've been cutting down, and... oh, right, just be back before your next shift starts. Say hi to the kids for me."

Charlie Apparated as close as he could to Hogwarts, and then strode up to the gate before ringing the bell. On a blank panel near the side of the gate, a metal face twisted out and stared up at him, yawning.

"Yes?" it asked in a voice that was neither feminine or masculine.

"My name is Charlie Weasley, I'm a dragon handler – I've come to speak with the Headmaster."

The metal face squinted at him. After a moment, it asked, "do you have an appointment?"

He could have said yes and tried to get in but the chances were this panel was charmed to detect lies and ill intentions. Instead he said, "no," and hoped he wouldn't be turned away.

"One moment please."

Charlie twisted the wand in his pocket nervously and took in the appearance of his old school. It hadn't changed at all. It would feel odd walking around the corridors again after having left several years before. Would any of the teachers even remember him?

A door creaked open and an old man waddled out carrying a lantern with a cat at his side. Charlie groaned.

_Bugger._

Filch was one person who he did remember from his years at Hogwarts. He was as nasty as could be, especially to students. Because he was related to two notorious troublemakers, Filch would probably have it in for him.

He unlocked the gate and pulled it open just enough to allow Charlie entry, and it surprised him that the scathing comments hadn't started the second he stepped out of the door. Filch must be too tired to get angry. That or he didn't know who he was.

"Get in, get in, hurry up," growled Filch, hobbling back towards the castle. Charlie barely had any time to breathe as he was led into a small corridor with a row of chairs – a waiting room? - and told to wait. Mrs. Norris hissed at him .

"Errr-"

"-someone will be with you whenever," muttered the caretaker dismissively, and he slammed the door to his office as he vanished inside. Soon after he heard loud, raspy snores, but nobody came down to tend to him.

"I hope he wasn't expecting me to be here all night," mumbled Charlie. "I'll find my own way up. It can't be that difficult. I lived here once before."

It was harder than he thought, and by the time he ran into Professor McGonagall, he was rather flustered. "I'm not a student, Professor!" he said as she spun around with her wand drawn, and he was thankful that she recognised him from his school years.

"Sorry, Charlie, it's been a while and I wasn't expecting you here. Why didn't Filch call someone to meet you?" asked the lioness as she led the Gryffindor (once a Gryffindor, always a Gryffindor) up towards the Headmaster's office.

"He fell asleep before he got the chance, I'm afraid," replied Charlie well-naturedly, and upon questioning, he launched into an explanation about his career as a Dragonologist.

"You've come far," she smiled tiredly as she rapped on the Headmaster's door. "I'm proud that one of my lions has come back for a visit – I'll go and fetch your brothers and sister. It was a pleasure seeing you again. Good night."

"Thank you, Professor McGonagall. It was good to see you again too. Good night."


	13. Answers and Revelations

George grunted and fell forward against Bane's back as the Centaur skidded to a halt. As he pushed himself into a seated position and spat the hair from his mouth, Bane glared at him over his shoulder.

"Be more careful!" he snapped, and George's jaw clenched with annoyance.

"You're not as graceful to ride as a unicorn, you know," he said coldly. "It's not like I _want_ to kiss the back of your head. You're not really my type."

Bane snarled.

"Enough!" growled Magorian, turning briefly to silence Bane with a glare. "No more arguing. This is sacred land to the Centaurs – show some respect!"

Firenze walked close so that his flank nearly brushed against Bane's. Fred looked at him inquisitively; George just nodded to let him know that he was fine, and then turned to take in their surroundings.

This part of the Forbidden Forest looked exactly like the rest of it, just a gathering of trees pressed so closely together that it looked like one tree had split at the roots and formed into others. There didn't appear to be anything sacred about it until Magorian, checking cautiously to see if anyone else was watching, pressed his hand against the air and vanished.

"Hold on tight," warned Firenze, sensing that Bane wouldn't provide any such courtesy. George tightened his grip on Bane's shoulders and felt a tug behind his nasal, almost like a hook was dragging him face first through a portal. As he reached the other side he fell from Bane's back and groaned.

Muttering something about having to put up with humans, Bane dragged him roughly up by one arm and threw him backwards onto his back. George was content to just lie there and wonder why he had to deal with angry, egotistical horses while they waited for Fred. He was pleased to note that Fred had the exact same reaction, but annoyed that Firenze handled him much more delicately, instead easing him to his feet.

"Fred, I get dibs on Firenze on the way back," he whined.

Firenze laughed. Bane let out a dissatisfied grunt.

"Shut up," said George.

"Here we are," said Magorian gently, spreading his arms out beside him. "This is where you will find your answers."

This didn't look like the Forbidden Forest at all. It was lush; emerald grass stretched for miles in each direction, oak trees stood high into the air like giant mushroom clouds, and there were all manner of creatures living in harmony with each other. As Bane trotted forward after Magorian, George looked up and saw that the trees were actually tree houses, and that there were bridges connecting them all in a zig-zag pattern. The bridges were connected with string that looked like it was hair and shed fur woven very tightly into rope, and they had guard rails that birds and insects were perched on, looking down on them from overhead. There were even a few cliffs as they walked closer in. Everything about this place felt magical.

"This trip would have been a lot nicer if you hadn't decided to _manhandle_ my twin," chided Fred from Firenze's back.

Bane's lips peeled back into the beginning of a snarl.

"Here, is the spring of new life," said Magorian, passing by a small pool which shone like diamond, which had numerous aquatic creatures inside. Some swam to the surface to get a look at them, others shied away. "This water is pure, untainted by man. Stop and let them drink."

"We need to get back to Hogwarts before we're missed," said Fred.

"Time runs slower here," said Magorian calmly, approaching the edge of the water. "Please, drink. We have no rush. The water will restore your health and purify your soul."

George slid sidewards off of Bane, who was twice as tall as he was, and knelt at the water's edge. "Fred, you know what they say about fish, right?"

Fred snorted. "I was trying not to, actually," he said, cupping his hands and bringing it up to his mouth.

The water was cool and refreshing. It was countless times better than anything they had ever tasted before, and as it entered their bodies, their concerns about getting chased away melted into nothing. In fact, their fears about travelling with the Centaurs and finding out more were replaced with bravery. Their eyes burned with determination as they looked at each other and smiled.

Whatever happened, they would get through it together.

The marks on their bodies began to burn and their wings burst forth. They looked at each other in surprise. In addition, their nails had transformed into something akin to talons, and it felt like tails were trapped in the fabric of their robes. They looked at their new transformation and flicked their nails together.

"The water will also increase the power and purity of your magic and give you strength," explained Firenze, smiling slightly. "For non-magical creatures such as Centaur, it boosts strength and stamina. We drink often from this pool. It is said that it was made from the tears of a thousand Phoenixes."

"Oh lovely," smirked Fred. "Well George, now you've got even more birds crying all over you."

George laughed and shook his head. "Is Lee a bird, I wonder?"

"Hope not. If he is, now I know what aimed for me in first year," said Fred disgustedly.

"Let us move on," said Magorian.

They were given a quick tour of the new forest, and through it they saw other Centaur herds racing across the fields, heard the thunder of hooves as Unicorns, white enough to make pure snow look grey, gliding effortlessly through the trees. A few looked their way with laughter in their eyes. George found himself smiling.

This place was truly beautiful.

"_Ah!"_ said a voice that made them jump. They whirled around and came face to face with a strange man. _"Excellent. I come back from guiding souls to the afterlife with Tharaven, and you have brought my Runes to me. Well done."_

"CLOTHES!" cried the twins in desperate horror. "PUT SOME CLOTHES ON!"

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ x ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Hermes laughed and, with a flick of his wrist, he was dressed in silk white robes. He wore sandals that had wings streaming out from the back, and in one hand was a tall staff. Serpants weaved around and stared, fangs drawn, at the wings carved onto the top of it. As he stood before them, their bodies burned like never before.

"You know, I streak all the time, but nobody pays any attention any more. In the past couple of years, you're the only two I've been able to play that prank on." Hermes smirked happily.

Fred and George looked at each other.

"We may be the best pranksters at Hogwarts, but we're not ever going to be caught streaking." George said.

"We have dignity," Fred added.

Hermes rolled his eyes in exasperation, and the twins shouted angrily.

"Give us back our clothes!" shouted George, trying to cover up with his wings.

"Or I'll burn yours!" hissed Fred.

Hermes laughed. "The humans have taught you to be ashamed of your own bodies!" he exclaimed, aiming his staff at the two. "Items crafted by man are forbidden here, because humans may not yet walk amongst us. You may wear these instead – perhaps they will be more to your taste."

The robes that he gave them were airy and loose, and matched the colour of their elements, crimson and turquoise. They were protected from the searing temperature of their wings and left plenty of space to admit their wings, and their tails streamed out like peacocks behind them. The sleeves fell to their elbows, showing their well toned arms.

Fred and George admired their new robes for a moment. George looked up, confused.

"You said that humans cannot walk here," he observed, his glowing eyes calm. Fred looked up sharply.

Hermes nodded and started to walk. "Runes are not human," he said. "Born of them they may be, they are entities that are gifted great power by the gods, and given great responsibility. They possess power that cannot be understood by anyone, and that in itself is dangerous. Few Runes have been born – you two included, only about nine have ever come into existence."

"Why, though?" asked Fred. "Why are there so few of them? ...of us, I mean."

"There are so few because mortals cannot be trusted. Such a warlike species... you're already in the middle of one that has spanned for a... rather long length of time for you, I suppose. You've already done some research. The humans are interested in Runes … they have no idea what they're doing. As for why you two have been chosen to be Runes..." Hermes swivelled around on the spot and smiled. "I was bored."

The twins just stared at him.

"Oh come off it, I'm joking," sniggered Hermes, his short blond hair glowing like gold. "No, you've been selected for a very special purpose... Athena should be able to tell you more about that. She's the Goddess of just war and a whole list of stuff I can't be bothered reciting right now. But trust me, she's cool. You know her already."

"I can't say we've ever met," frowned George. "This is the first time we've ever come here."

"Oh, you've met alright. We always have someone to watch over the Runes. Athena, who has been walking in the war below, has also been watching over you since the moment you were Blessed … I made her a bet, you see," he grinned and winked, his eyes twinkling. "If I Blessed a mortal woman, I said that not only would she have twins, but that they would have the power of Fire and Water. I wasn't far off – ice! They're still opposites. The woman who decides these things, she's a close friend of mine. I just had to pull a decent prank on her ex and she owed me a favour."

Fred snickered. "What did you do?"

Hermes beamed. Nobody _ever _asked him about his pranks! "Well I laid down a trap for him near the valley just beyond. I told him that there was a Manticore lurking around – he loves those, you see. When he went to take a look, I trapped him inside a cave and ran away. It took him four days to find his way out!"

He grinned as the twins laughed and nodded their approval. "By the way, my boys, that idea with the chalks – _brilliant!_ But don't do it yet – there's someone going to Hogwarts next year who'll just _love_ you. Now it's time you were sent back to Hogwarts, but... one more thing ... yes, yes, here we are. Take these with you – _don't take them off!_"

Handing Fred a cloth, he unfolded it and pulled out two thin silver chains. Attached to the chain was a jagged shard of onyx in the shape of a wing. Pulling one over George's head, he put the other over Fred's. The cloth vanished and he nudged the two closer.

"The shards are enchanted. With these on, your power will be contained within a limit – yes, a limit. You can't run around freezing Hogwarts or setting fire to people accidentally when you get upset. This way you can walk amongst the other students with as much power as they would expect you to have, but you can still do magic without wands or incantations. You don't have to worry about setting forests on fire either," he added pointedly to Fred. "With these on, you can find this place whenever you need to come here, but remember never to bring a human here."

"What if we do?" asked George for the sake of asking.

"Athena will kill you, and then me," said Hermes, grimacing. "That woman is a monster, I don't fancy her trying to figure out a way to get past my immortality. The last time I got on her bad side ... _ughgh!"_ he shuddered violently and shook his head. "Just don't, alright?"

"We promise," said George. Then they both smiled nastily. Hermes looked disconcerted for a moment, and then groaned as the twins began to laugh.

"Bloody Phoenix Runes," he grumbled. "Now, I've had your physical bodies taken back to your room. Nobody will know that you even left. Your brother Charlie visited while you were on the journey here but Athena made it look like you were asleep too deeply to be woken up," he explained. "If you have any problems, talk to Athena … bloody woman … so I'll see you whenever you next visit. Failing that, I'll be helping you to torment the mortals."

"Don't quit your day job, _Hermit_," growled a beautiful, youthful voice, and a lion came padding towards them. She had sleek golden fur and rounded ears, and a long tail tufted at the tip. "I'm here to take you back. I'm Athena."

"You're so mean to me," whimpered Hermes, hitting the end of his winged staff against the ground. "I thought we were friends. I'm offended now."

"Good. Maybe it'll teach you a lesson." Athena let out a low roar and settled herself between the twins. "Come on. Close your eyes."

"Can you ask Bane not to manhandle me?" asked George suddenly, looking at Hermes, who was feigning misery. "Next time I can't promise I won't freeze him solid."

Hermes blinked in confusion and then annoyance. "Is he picking on my Runes? _Bane!_" With a loud crack similar to Apparition, he had disappeared.

"Busted," snickered Fred. George grinned triumphantly.

Athena let out a harrumph. "Yes, well, close your eyes and touch my fur. We don't have all day."

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ x ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

When they opened their eyes, it was early in the morning. Dawn was just casting mild light across the horizon. There was a distinct smell of damp drifting throughout the castle, and there were remnants of heat spattered about the room from where the house elves had visited during the night. Everyone was still asleep, and Fred was exhausted from their journey to... where ever they had been.

"You okay, Freddie?" murmured a voice from right beside him, and Fred angled his head to get a better look at George. They were both dressed in their nightwear – black trousers with no shirts and no socks. George looked as tired as he did, and they both wished that they didn't have any lessons to go to in a few hours time. They both felt the need to sleep until Christmas.

"Yeah," whispered Fred, reaching out to touch George's shoulder, his fingertips brushing gently against his collarbone. George shifted slightly; Fred hooked the silver chain around his throat and lifted it, gazing at it, relaxedly calm.

George smiled slightly, tugged at Fred's own chain, moving his thumb over the fang-shaped gem. "Me too," he said.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ x ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

"Fred and George Weasley. A word."

Fred and George stopped and turned. Professor McGonagall brushed past a group of Gryffindors, her lips pursed and face stern. She led them into a classroom where Professor Dumbledore stood, his back to them. He was talking to someone, and after a moment, he moved aside to reveal Cedric Diggory.

"Before you say anything," said Professor McGonagall in a tone that really didn't help at all, "You're not in trouble."

The twins exchanged a nervous look, the same thing running through their minds.

"_Were we caught outside?"_

Professor Dumbledore beckoned for them to sit down. The twins did so slowly, as if they weren't quite sure if the chairs would bite them. He offered his trademark lemon drop but neither Fred nor George had an appetite. They felt sick to their stomachs with unease.

"There's been a bit of concern with one of our students," said Dumbledore, watching them over his half-moon spectacles. "We just want to ask a couple of questions. What can you tell us about Hermione Granger?"

"Hermione?" echoed Fred, who blinked in confusion. "We helped her not too long ago. She came back to the common room covered in bruises … thought she'd been in a fight. George?"

George's hands had suddenly gripped the armrests on the chair he sat on tight. An expression of cold anger flashed in his eyes, and then he relaxed. "Sorry. Sir, forgive the boldness, but what aren't you telling us?" George ignored McGonagall's sharp breath in. "What's happened to Hermione?"

Dumbledore simply laughed. "It's fine, Minerva ...well, you are her friends … she collapsed, you see. She was admitted to the hospital wing not too long ago. Madam Pomfrey had to treat her for internal bleeding … there were bruises on her arms – defensive injuries, according to the healers. We want to find out what happened, and according to Mr. Diggory here, you two have been keeping an eye on her."

"When I went to fetch Harry for that match between our Houses, Harry, Ron and Hermione were sitting near the fire and she was pretty upset. When Harry was comforting her, he mentioned you two." Cedric explained. "I'm sorry if-"

"It's okay. We are looking out for her," said George.

"Have you seen anything?" asked Dumbledore.

"Nothing," said Fred. "Believe us, we would have done something if we had. She hasn't told anyone about what's happening, but-"

"Krum," said George suddenly. Everyone looked at him. "Viktor Krum. They were talking in the library, I overheard them … said something about dealing with someone. But it's not Krum that's hurting her, Professor. He cares about her a lot."

Fred observed him for a moment. _"George?"_

"Thank you, Mr. Weasley," said Dumbledore. "I'll follow up on that lead. Now I suppose you want to see Miss Granger..."

"I'll escort them myself," said McGonagall. "I need to talk to Madam Pomfrey anyway."

"Thank you. You may all go now. I'm going to look for Harry..."

George was deep in thought as McGonagall led them up to the hospital wing. Something was obviously bothering him, but he said nothing of it as they entered the room and approached the bed where Hermione lay. She looked pale and thin... too thin. It was evident that she hadn't been eating. Her hair had lost its usual sheen and she looked tormented even in sleep. Make-up had been wiped from her face and she was covered in bruises and scrapes.

"George," Fred gave him a shove. George realised he must have been staring at her. He couldn't get the thought he'd just had out of his mind. "George, are you... interested in her?"

George blushed. "No!"

"I don't care if you are-"

"No, I'm not!" George insisted sharply. "She's more like a sister than anything. It's just..."

"You think we could have done more?" Fred supplied.

George just stared at her and bit his lip.

Fred took a step forward. "Do you think you know who did this?" he asked.

George's brow furrowed. He hesitated, wishing he felt the usual flow of power through his body.

"George?"

"I'm not sure," he replied, sighing. "I have an idea, Fred, but … man, I just hope I'm wrong about this. Look, you stay here, see if you can find out more. There's someone I need to find."


	14. Family Talk

"Excuse me, Professor Snape," George said as he approached the Potions Master. Snape looked up from the workbook he was marking, his eyes angry and radiating impatience. The class he was teaching looked at the sixteen year old as if he were insane, striding through the classroom unannounced. "I need to borrow Ron for a bit … Professor Dumbledore wants to speak to him."

Snape snapped the book shut sharply. "Do you have a note?" he demanded.

"Do you have a hearing problem?" challenged George casually, leaning against his desk. The class froze and fell silent. Snape looked taken aback, and then furious.

"Do you want a week's worth of detention?" he hissed.

George shrugged. "You know it wouldn't work, sir. It never does. Look, we could exchange threats all day but the Headmaster was pretty insistent that he needed Ron now."

"Take your brother and get out!" snarled Snape, his face red. "My office, eight o'clock. You'll be scrubbing cauldrons."

"Lovely. It's a date, then?" said George brightly. "Ron, come on – shouldn't keep him waiting!"

Ron looked relieved to be getting out of Potions. Grabbing his work and stuffing it into his bag, he said goodbye to Harry and followed George out of the classroom and into the corridor.

"What does Professor Dumbledore want to see me for?" he asked curiously as they walked towards a quiet part of the school.

George smiled. "Oh, just wants a chat."

Ron shrugged. "Whatever. So why'd he send you?"

"I was just passing by."

But George was leading him towards a quiet part of the school, where they wouldn't be disturbed. Ron seemed to sense something was up and stopped. George wasn't making jokes as usual.

"Where's Fred?"

"Hospital wing," replied George, turning on his heel to face his brother. "Something wrong?"

"Where are you taking me?"

"I told you, to see-"

"Don't lie to me!" shouted Ron. "You and Fred are _never_ apart. What's going on?"

George, in a movement too quick for Ron, grabbed him by the front of his robes and threw him up against the wall. Ron's head hit the stone wall with a satisfying bang.

"Hermione's in the hospital wing," snarled the twin. "Internal bleeding. More bruises. Why do I feel _you_ have something to do with it?"

Ron was stonily quiet. He refused to meet George's eyes, instead choosing to find George's Hogwarts badge interesting.

"I'm asking you a question, Ron." George said slowly. "_Are – you – involved?_"

Silence.

"SHE'S YOUR FRIEND!"

"SHE'S NOT MY FRIEND!" shouted Ron, suddenly finding his voice. "She stopped being my friend when she started chasing after Krum!"

"I told you once, I'll tell you again," seethed George, "You can't have everything you want whenever you want. She's not your possession! You can't choose her friends for her – or her boyfriends! She's a woman, damn you, and you _can't_ treat her like this!"

"What, you're going to stop me?" sneered Ron. George was taken aback. "Are you going to beat me up again? Or are you going to curse me this time? Come on, get your wand out."

George froze. He'd lost his wand shortly after Hermione had been beaten up for the first time, and Fred had lost his in the forest. With the chain around his neck restricting his powers, there was no way he was going to be able to fight Ron off using magic. Ron looked uncharacteristically smug – George would have sworn that he was Malfoy on Polyjuice.

"You did it," he whispered. "You stole my-"

Ron pushed something into his ribcage. "Let go," he said.

Ron couldn't pull off wandless magic. George could land a punch to his jaw before he as much as opened his mouth, but if he missed and Ron managed to get away, he would be in serious danger. He couldn't reach into his robes and get the chain off – Hermes had warned him not to take it off, and he was certain that if he did somehow manage it...

He was so angry that he wouldn't be able to control his magic. He would blow a gaping hole in Hogwarts. People could get _hurt_.

Moving slowly, he released his younger brother and took a few steps back. Ron was holding his wand, and moved into the middle of the corridor so that George only had one way to run – straight into a dead end. He could run back and make it harder for Ron to hit him, or he could try and tackle Ron instead, but make it almost certain to get hurt.

"I told you to stay out of my business," growled Ron.

"Ron, you don't want to do this," said George nervously, raising his hands in a non-threatening gesture. "Mum will-"

"Think it was an accident. Think it was Malfoy, or maybe Krum. Maybe then she'll stop seeing him."

His words infuriated George but he couldn't do anything. "If you hurt me, Fred will hunt you down, Ron," he said threateningly. "And he'll beat you a helluva lot worse than I did. You'd be lucky to still be alive."

"Then I'll have to make sure you don't remember." Ron said warningly. "I learned a few things about Obliviating people. Happened to Lockhart, in fact. He's still in St. Mungos, don't reckon he'll ever get his memory back. I'm sure it can't be too hard."

George took a bracing breath and glared at his younger brother. "What happened to you, Ron?" he asked in a low growl. "You've changed. I don't even recognise you."

"He _has_ changed," said a scathing voice. Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle were walking down the corridor – Ron turned to them, brandishing George's wand, pointing it straight at them. Crabbe and Goyle aimed back. "We didn't think you had the guts to hold your own brother hostage, Weasley."

"What are _you_ doing here?"

"We've been meaning to get some revenge on him for a while, him and the other one." Malfoy sneered. "That stunt on the train nearly cost me my wand and got me expelled."

"Well it's not my fault you're such a prick," spat George. "You did that to yourself."

Malfoy smiled; he made a motion with his arm and his wand was in his hand. "And now you're going to pay for it."

George laughed. "You're still not very good at denying things … Ron, you're not going to ally yourself with _them,_ are you?"

Ron looked indecisive.

"We're not here for you," said Malfoy. "We want _him_. We're not even going to touch you, since you've been so kind as to get him here for us. In fact, you could help us, you know … you've already spent some time with us-"

"There's no way in hell I'm going to join you," hissed Ron. "You're still Slytherin. I'm a Gryffindor. But you could be of some use to me..." Ron turned and aimed his wand at George. George backed away. With four wands trained on him, he had no chance of escaping. The only chance now was...

"_Fred!?"_

"_George? What's wrong?"_

"_SHIT! FRED! SIXTH FLOOR. HELP!"_

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ x ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Krum was lost, confused and muttering Bulgarian curses as he walked around Hogwart's corridors. The school had seven stories, hundreds of rooms and thousands of students. Being in unfamiliar territory was still unnerving to the Durmstrang student, especially because he had meant to be at the Durmstrang ship half an hour ago to attend lessons.

"If dat staircase vould have stay still, vould not be in dis mess," he sighed. He hadn't got his Firebolt so he couldn't just fly out of the window, and he had no idea which way to go. He had thought about asking directions but he hadn't come across a classroom, the ghosts had sent him on a wild goose chase and... well, he was too shy to just knock on the door and interrupt a teacher from their lesson.

He could fly and perform magnificent daring feats in front of a crowd sometimes at least two thousand strong, but he couldn't handle a class of about thirty students. Failing that, he couldn't even work up the courage to ask his romance interest on a date. A single woman, and his own heart failed him.

"Vhy everything not like Quidditch?" he complained. "Things vould be so much easier."

"_Levicorpus!"_

"_Langlock!"_

Krum pressed himself against the wall and took out his wand. There were four boys; one blond, one red-head and two with darker hair, doing something at the end of the corridor. Inching himself closer, he flinched at the sound of a pained grunt and flicked his wand from its holster, approaching the four from behind.

There was a young man, his shoulder-length ginger hair, hanging upside down in the air from his ankles. Krum barely recognised him from the friendly Quidditch game, he had blood streaming down his face and eyes filled with unadultered rage. He hadn't got a wand, but the other boys did, and he was thrashing violently as they threw punches and hexes at him. He tried to shout out something but the Langlock spell had stuck his tongue to the roof of his mouth, so it only came out as a strangled cry.

The blond boy, grinning, pointed his wand and exclaimed, _"Petrificus Totalus!"_

The man froze, his arms crossed in front of his chest and head, his face stuck in a half flinch. His vulnerability only served to encourage the boys, because they started hitting him harder – until something slipped out from his robes and hung down, unable to fall because of his hunched shoulders.

"What's this?" muttered the red-head, reaching out to take it.

"Accio vands," muttered Krum, and the wands shot from their hands. "Petrificus Totalus!" he said commandingly. He caught one of the dark haired boys in the chest. He fell to the floor in a heap. "Avay from him – _NOW!_"

The two Slytherins whimpered and backed away, whimpering. The red-head stared at him in shock.

"_AVAY FROM HIM!_" roared Krum furiously, and this time his voice thundered throughout the castle. All three of them ran past him, through the corridor, leaving the fourth behind. Only the red-head looked back to see the damage he had inflicted.

Running over to the bloodied Beater, he put the wands down on the ground and stood underneath him. "Finite incantatem," he said, and dropped his wand as the other man fell out of the air, groaning and coughing.

"You can hear me?" asked Krum in a thick Bulgarian accent, gently holding George in one arm. He was nearly unconscious; his breathing was shallow and he had lost a lot of blood. Cursing, Krum tried to keep him awake. The necklace around his throat was glowing faintly, brighter as seconds passed, and then went out altogether.

Jumping, Krum looked over his shoulder as there came a horrified cry. The man's twin brother – Fred – tore through the hall like a bat out of hell, with the Gryffindor Head of House behind her, and another woman who had grey hair and the clothing of a healer. Krum moved to let his brother close; the poor sixteen year old was shaking and speechless. He didn't even seem to see the Stunned boy as he went straight to his twin's side. He almost trampled him.

"Attacked by Hogvart students, several of dem. I find, chase off, but..." the four wands were still lying on the floor next to him. He snatched them up and pushed them into McGonagall's hands. "These vands – these belong to attackers."

"Move aside," said the healer, kneeling down. "Mr. Weasley, can you hear me?"

"Ven I asked him, he not respond," said Krum, hoping to be helpful.

"I need to get him to the hospital wing," said Madam Pomfrey. "I cannot treat him here. He needs blood replenishment potions and I haven't got any with me … god, he's freezing … hurry up – you two will have to carry him. Professor-"

"I will bring him," said McGonagall sharply. "Don't you worry about that."

George drifted in and out of consciousness at least twice before they reached the hospital wing. He didn't say anything when Fred tried to wake him, he only groaned and retched dryly – a side effect of the Langlock jinx – and coughed out blood from his mouth.

When they entered the hospital wing, there was a black-haired boy sat beside a girl whose face was covered in a lot of thick yellow paste, but he recognised her immediately. It was Hermione. Her arms were bandaged and she looked like a mess. He was stroking her arm and talking to her quietly, but he looked up sharply as the door slammed open. It was Harry.

"Put him down on the bed," said Madam Pomfrey quickly, heading straight towards a cupboard. "Give him an extra pillow and blanket – keep his head raised, keep him warm. Let's see … blood replenisher..."

Krum helped Fred to lower George onto the bed, supporting his head as he did so. Fred ran around a table to snatch a pillow, but the blankets were tucked into the beds and he was having trouble pulling one free. As he yanked at the blanket, he let out a string of curses that made McGonagall splutter in surprise.

As he looked over to see where the other boy was, he saw the same red-head in the healer's office as the one he'd caught attacking George. Had he been caught running away? No, it looked more like he was talking to someone. Professor Dumbledore was in there with him, and as the old wizard and the student left the office, they both cast a look at the girl that Harry was sitting with, and then Dumbledore turned his attention to the scene unravelling in front of him.

Suddenly, as he rose to made a lunge for the red-head, Krum felt a weak hand grab his shirt and he leaned down. George was trying to tell him something. It was very faint, as hard to hear as a whisper amongst a roaring engine, but he just about made it out.

"_Don't tell them."_

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ x ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Professor McGonagall sat at George's bedside, watching Fred gently stroke George's bloody hair, moving it away from his face. Since he'd been admitted almost an hour ago, news had travelled fast, and Madam Pomfrey had been having to admit several visitors. Oliver Wood, Ginny Weasley, the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, Lee Jordan... but only one had managed – had chosen – to stay with him and him alone.

Fred looked afraid. She'd seen a variety of emotions on his face but never fear, and it startled her after several years that he was actually capable of the emotion. It startled her, but it also made sense, that he had only chosen to be seen this vulnerable when his twin was unconscious.

Since he'd lost consciousness, in fact, he hadn't said a word. He just shook his head whenever he was asked a question, shot glares when anyone suggested leaving George … he was going to stay with him even if he had to fight Madam Pomfrey. McGonagall had only managed to get him official permission to stay by saying that because of the nature of the attack, and the severity of it, he couldn't be left alone until he was conscious again and able to tell them what had happened.

Viktor Krum had given vague information about it, but said that he hadn't been able to identify who did it. McGonagall had an idea who – the three Slytherins that made the most trouble of them all, Crabbe, Goyle and Malfoy. Dumbledore had sent for Snape and ordered him to fetch Goyle and Malfoy – Crabbe had been hit with the Full Body Bind Curse, which Krum had admitted to using, but only to protect George from further harm.

Producing her wand, she transfigured a potted plant into a water basin and wash cloth, poured some of the water kept in a jug next to all bedsides and passed it to Fred. He glanced at it, looked back to his twin and took it from her without a word, and began trying to clean the blood out of his hair.

"Vill he be okay?" asked a quiet voice from nearby. Krum had not left the hospital wing. After settling George down, he'd sat next to Hermione to keep her company as she recovered from her operation.

"Madam Pomfrey suspects that he has a concussion," said McGonagall just as gently, minding that she didn't speak too loudly, lest she disturb the patients. "She's monitoring him to watch for internal bleeding, but he should be alright."

Fred's hand stopped at George's cheek and McGonagall caught the distinct sense that he was challenging her. _He will be alright,_ he was correcting her, but he was too muted out of anxiety to say it directly. She nodded in understanding and rested her hands on her lap, occasionally reaching out to gently pry the cloth from his hands when it became too bloody or dry.

Eventually Krum had to leave, and he did so reluctantly when his Headmaster strode in and almost got his tongue cursed off by Madam Pomfrey for shouting and disturbing the patients. When she was sure that they were alone, she stopped Fred's hand by placing hers over it and leaned closer.

"It's alright to cry," she whispered softly.

Fred looked at her, startled and confused. She smiled and, squeezing his hand reassuringly, quietly left the infirmary to soothe her anxious lions and to confront some snakes. As she closed the doors behind her, she heard the quiet sound of sobbing, and closed her eyes to hide her fury.

Regardless of whether or not the students were dealt with, she was going to have her revenge.

_Ambushing one of my Gryffindors..._

_Unforgivable._

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ x ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

George finally opened his eyes in the early hours of the morning and, despite the dry tear tracks (that were not his) on his face, felt fine. Fred was asleep on the chair, leaning on the bed with his head in his arms. Looking across, he could see Hermione resting peacefully, and he realised that as well as heal him, Fred had healed her, too.

He remembered everything that happened and wished that he didn't. Krum had seen it – he'd asked him not to talk about Ron, though he hadn't worded it as obviously. Seeing that Fred was still there, and Ron was not a patient in critical care and there wasn't any extensive bleeding on any of the beds, he could only assume that the Durmstrang student had done what he'd asked.

What was he supposed to tell Fred? His twin was going to scream Hogwarts into the ground searching for whoever did this. He even noticed, strangely amused, that one of the boys had been caught and that there were two empty suits of armour posted by his bed, and the door to Pomfrey's office (which doubled as a bedroom) was slightly ajar. George realised that the guard was why Fred hadn't killed anyone yet.

If he told anyone that Ron had purposely done this to him – done this to _Hermione_ – then his family wasn't going to take it well at all.

He lay there for a few minutes longer, deep in thought. The wind blew in from somewhere despite the closed windows and ruffled his messy hair.

_...Hermes?_

The door nudged open and, to his surprise, a lion padded in. It was familiar, and she padded in on thick paws, gazing about the room until her eyes landed on him, and she moved towards his bedside and hopped onto one of the chairs.

"Let him sleep," whispered Athena, nodding to Fred. "I'll keep him under a sleeping spell. That way he won't be disturbed."

"Why are you here?" asked George, mindful that there were other people in the room, and that Madam Pomfrey was just a door away.

"Relax. _Hermit_ told you I would be watching over you. I'm always around." Murmured the lion, swinging her tail back and forth. "I know what happened... what you're thinking about... you can't hide it forever, you know." Meeting his gaze squarely, she added, "If you let him get away with it, he might end up hurting more people."

"And if I don't, I'll hurt my family," sighed George, his head falling back on the pillow. "Ron's no longer a Weasley for what he's done … bloody stupid great _prat!_" he nearly yelled. "What the fuck do I do?!"

"Tell him," said Athena, draping her tail over his waist for the tip to rest against Fred's messy ginger locks. "He'll understand. He'll support you. He can help you to make a decision … your brother's coming here, you know. Charlie. He heard that you were assaulted, sent an owl to your parents … very worried. Also said something about setting a Hungarian Horntail on Hogwarts..."

George scoffed and smiled. "Now _that_ would be fun to see." He paused. "How long will I be in here?"

"Well, the healer will want to check you over one final time. She doesn't know your brother healed you. I'd say, if Fate-" she mumbled something like 'for once in her life' "-decides to be kind. But I'd say you'll be free to go at mid-day … it's not going to be the same for her, though."

"What's wrong with Hermione?" asked George. "I thought Fred healed her injuries..."

"He did, but she has psychological wounds too. Ron bullied her so much, she's become anorexic … so very thin..."

"Next time I see him, I swear to god..." George snarled. "Just because she's hanging around Krum – he's insufferable!"

"You really are like Hermit," he heard Athena murmur to herself. To him, though, she explained, "He jokes around, plays pranks, but he really cares about other people. He'd do anything to help them, even sacrifice what he owns … his generosity is a blessing in that people tend to like him and support him in return, but it's also a curse, because others can use him."

George smiled slightly. Like his idea to give Lee their life savings, which they'd been collecting to start up their own joke shop. Fred had refused and said the same thing.

...hadn't Ron stolen five Galleons from their life savings?

"Get some rest now, cub," murmured Athena, smiling brightly. "I must go now, but I'll watch over you both."

"Thank you, Athena." George lifted his hand and scratched behind the goddesses ear. She leaned into the touch with a purr and butted him with her head before leaping onto the floor and heading towards the door. "Athena," he lifted his head, biting his lip. "...look after her as well, won't you? Watch over Hermione too. She's like a little sister to me and Fred and... she doesn't deserve this. Not from him."

Athena looked back at him, mid-stride, and then nodded slowly. "I will guard her as well, but be warned, cub... her journey will not be easy."


	15. Rejoining the Pride

Charlie, true to Athena's word, visited Hogwarts later that morning, about half an hour before students got up for lessons. His arrival woke both of the twins, but neither complained. Charlie only got a (manly) hug when he agreed not to ruffle his hair.

"Hagrid told me last night … shouted so loud I nearly woke up all the dragons," laughed Charlie, and the twins cackled at the image of Charlie having to be held down by grumpy dragon tamers. He still didn't know that they were aware of his reason for arriving so quickly, or hearing the news from Hagrid.

"Sure you didn't turn into one yourself?" teased Fred, which earned him a cuff around the head.

But Charlie, ever so blasé, just replied, "I might have, you know. I'm protective of Ginny and everyone else but you two get into so much trouble-"

"-we resent that!-"

"-that I'm especially protective of you both. You seem alright now though, made a fast recovery. What happened?"

What happened. George had been dreading that question all night talking to Athena. He'd fallen asleep before he could plan out what to say – what on earth did he tell them now?

Fred was looking at him expectantly and Charlie was gazing at him over a mug of coffee that Madam Pomfrey passed to him. Charlie had poured something in that he had in a flask in his pocket – whiskey, probably. He did like the flavour, but never ever got drunk. He had once before – he'd been a huggable drunk, dangerously innocent – and the twins had made sure he decided against it in the future … even if they had been punished severely for it.

"Georgie?" prompted Fred, squeezing his hand.

George had drifted into thought and stared at the wall opposite, lost in thought. "Er, what?"

"What happened?"

What did he tell them? Fred he trusted, not because Athena had suggested he confess, but Charlie... he was a big brother through and through. At times he was rather like a fatherly figure. Before he moved, he stepped in when Arthur was at work, acting as a shoulder to cry on when anyone was upset. He loved them immensely, George knew that, and the feeling was reciprocated...

Fred already knew that Malfoy and his gang had been involved. The only one who knew the entire truth was Krum, and he could spill it at any given time. George didn't want Fred to hear it from the Quidditch star and not from his own twin, who had shared every given moment with him.

Closing his eyes, George sighed and shook his head, pulling his hand out of Fred's grip and rubbing – hiding – his face with it. He was already starting to grow a bit of stubble – contrary to belief, the twins _did_ shave. Fred looked exactly the same, a little bit of ginger fuzz sprouting out about his mouth.

"It's alright if you don't remember," said Charlie warmly. "Madam Pomfrey did say you might have a concussion."

"No, I do remember," George said, knowing for a fact that Fred knew he didn't have a concussion. "I just..."

"Don't want to talk about it?"

"No, I do … I'm not sure … It's complicated."

Fred looked like he wanted to shake George and demand the answer from him, but he didn't do anything, just stared.

George sighed again, clutched at his head and focused on his hair pooling around his fingers and over the back of his hands. He would have to tell them. He couldn't get the image of Hermione lying on the hospital bed out of his mind, or Lee crying over the note that his father had written him. Fred staring at Krum as he stumbled over the shock of hearing what had really happened … if he didn't find out from George, he would most likely just track him down. There was no third door.

"Georgie, please..."

That broke all resolve. With his face hidden behind his hands, he broke into an confession of everything, not noticing that at some point that McGonagall had entered the wing with a food tray from breakfast, that Hermione had woken up and started listening silently as her story was brought out into the open, or that Krum was lingering in the doorway, listening to every word in horror. He explained that he'd seen Ron assault Hermione on the Quidditch pitch - that Ron had been the cause for Hermione's bruises, and that he'd tried to warn him off, but it hadn't worked. He confirmed that it had been him who had beat up Ron and snapped his wand, but only because Ron had gone at him first in an attempt to hurt him with it, that Ron had stolen and used his own wand against him and sided with the Slytherins.

By the time he was finished there was a shocked silence only broken by his own exhausted sobs. He daren't look up – he didn't want to see anyone staring at him in pity or anger. He wasn't the only one crying either – Hermione was, too, which only confirmed his story more.

Slowly two people sat on the side of his bed and pulled him into a hug. From the heat of one body he could tell it was Fred, and then there was the aroma of exotic aftershave and cologne, which he knew was Charlie.

"I'm so, so sorry I didn't tell you guys," sobbed George.

"It's okay," said Charlie gently. "You did the right thing. We'll sort it out. He'll be dealt with."

"If I don't kill the little fucker first," snarled Fred quietly, and for once neither Charlie nor Professor McGonagall scolded him for his language.

"Her-my-own-ninny, vhy you keep secret like this?" asked Krum softly. In that instant it was clear – Krum was smitten with the young Gryffindor bookworm. "Vhy you not trust friends? Ve help you, if you let us..."

"H- he t- t- told me I was w- worthless, a- an' fat … nobody c- cared about me..." Hermione choked out brokenly.

"Vell he obviously feels dat way 'imself, but you most definitely not any of those things," said Krum resolutely. "You are beautiful, clever, ten times better than he vill ever be! And look at vat he do to you … ve must fix this, Her-my-own-ninny. But vhy you no seek help? I vould have beaten him – I vould have knocked him senseless for you!"

"Viktor, he obviously _has_ no sense," said George shakily. "That's why he's doing this in the first place."

"Very good point. No sense ... I kick sense into him then," corrected Viktor, turning to the twins and Charlie. "You help?"

Hermione let out a strangled sound that made them think she was crying again, but after a moment she began to laugh. George snickered and wiped the tears away from his eyes, and Fred grinned weakly at the familiar sound.

McGonagall was smiling, but she composed herself quickly. "Now, nobody will be attacking anyone else..."

As she went into a long winded lecture about school rules, although the twins firmly believed she wouldn't mind kicking some sense into Ron either, they began to talk.

"_Should we talk to Charlie about... us?" _asked George, sniffing.

"_I want to," _replied Fred, rubbing his back in rhythmic circles. _"But god, George, why did you keep all of this to yourself? I was wondering why he was glaring at me..."_

"_I wanted to tell you before but I... guess I was just a bit nervous. I mean we've only just learned more about ourselves, in all of the stress I guess I just forgot... and then Lee..."_

"_Don't bottle it up – in fact, promise me you won't ever bottle anything up ever again." _Fred said. _"I love you, Georgie. It kills me to see you get hurt..."_

"_I promise, Freddie, if you do the same. I'm sorry..."_

"_I know, but don't be … let's tell Charlie. I think he should know."_

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ x ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

The next few days passed quickly and the first task of the Triwizard Tournament went off with a minor hitch. Fred and George still broke into laughing fits as they saw Charlie and a dark-skinned wizard begin shouting when the Hungarian Horntail broke through the chains and fly off after Harry (who, to his credit, had actually acted very calm considering he nearly got eaten).

Hermione had started seeing a counsellor about her anorexia, and her meals were monitored to ensure she was eating enough. It would take a long time before she was even close enough to be considered cured, but she had great friends to support her every step of the way. Krum walked from the lake every day to see her. Fred, George and Lee had moved down the table so that they sat beside Harry and Ginny. It took a lot of encouragement to get her to eat but she was doing very well. Krum made sure she knew this when he (shyly) sat between her and Fred and joined them every day for meals.

None of the staff seemed to mind that a Durmstrang student was mingling with the lions. In fact, as Professor Dumbledore encouraged it, there was an undisguised beam of pride in her eyes. The Slytherins were particularly jealous, but on the third day the Hufflepuff table was teeming with various students from differing schools.

The week was pretty good as far as the twins were concerned. They'd raised a lot of money in secret support for Lee by pulling sponsored pranks, and Charlie had handed in a wand which had, in turn, been passed on to them by Professor Lupin, who recognised it. The twin wands were so happy to be reunited that, for the entire day, they chose to switch owners every hour or so, which annoyed the twins to no end but made Lupin laugh quite a bit as they turned up to their lessons struggling to identify their own wands.

However, it wasn't to last. They knew something was up when they were pulled out of lesson by Professor McGonagall and taken back to their dorm... to find that their trunks had been upended, their clothes and possessions flung everywhere, and their life savings and charity work for Lee had been stolen. What was most frightening was that their notes about Runes were gone... and that Lee had spoken only the day before that with as much support coming in, they could buy his father a house in no time. They would have to start all over again from scratch, and now their brother possibly knew their biggest secret ever.

"This has gone far enough!" McGonagall shrieked, though the twins disagreed. It had gone too far. It was only made worse when Ron denied everything. "I'm calling in your parents and a staff meeting. This behaviour is atrocious – _ATROCIOUS!_"

"What're we gonna tell Lee?" whispered George, already dreading that particular conversation. Just when they thought everything had finally started looking up... "What're we gonna do about our savings? What're we gonna do about our notes?"

"Sixteen years it took us … it'll just have to take sixteen more." Fred said. "We can't make new products without funding."

"F- Fred? George?" came a timid voice from the doorway. Hermione stepped in, her bag clutched under one arm. She was shaking slightly, as if the bag was too heavy for her. "Can I talk to you a minute?"

"If it's about Ron-" started Fred, but Hermione had reached into her bag and pulled out a stack of papers, tightly bound. She put them on the bed beside them, and their own handwriting stood out as clear as day. Some of the pages were badly torn and some crumpled.

"Where'd you find this?" choked George, checking to see if any of the pages were missing.

"Professor McGonagall collected them up when she found everything all over the room and asked me to hand them back to you," she said quietly. "She said she didn't read them … they might not be in order, but I think they're all there."

"Did you read any of them?" asked Fred.

"I … yes, I read some, but I already knew as much," said Hermione nervously. "I know about you two, if that's what you want to know … I haven't and I won't tell anybody."

The twins breathed a heavy sigh of relief. They hadn't told Charlie yet because he'd had to leave before they'd got the chance, to speak to Dumbledore and a guy called Maverick. Hiding away their notes and casting extra powerful charms, they headed downstairs where they began waiting for McGonagall to collect them. To their surprise, Krum was already there.

"He insisted on coming with me, since McGonagall wants me there as well," she explained. "I let him in."

Viktor just smiled. "Very comfy, varm fire … reminds me of home a little bit."

Fred smiled and sat down, putting his feet up on the table. George copied him, and with an amused smirk, Viktor kicked his feet up as well.

"Very difficult second task," he complained. "Egg vill not stop screeching at me – vorse than Banshee, I tell you! Sounds like my grandmama vith headache – she no understand yelling not make it better … vish I could just throw in lake and forget whole thing."

"Maybe you should try it," laughed George. "If anything it'll help with the frustration. That or we could set off a firework near it," he offered, nudging Fred with his elbow.

Krum rolled his eyes. "Vish I could but blowing up egg … not good plan. Might not get clue then. Like Quidditch, just keep trying … vell, not practising, if you practice wrong thing, you, eh... how you say... fucked? … sometimes I think finding clue in egg _is_ the deadly part of Trivizard Tournament."

They all laughed and talked a while longer, but the heavy sense of foreboding that had left them came back like a ton of bricks falling as Professor McGonagall opened the portrait and stepped into the room.

"The meeting will be in a few weeks," she said gently. "I've owled your parents … you should all get some sleep. It's the match between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tomorrow."

"Could I speak to you in private, Professor?" said George quietly.

Professor McGonagall nodded curtly and walked past the Fat Lady painting and out into the corridor. George followed and, wanting to keep an eye on George, Fred did too. When they were alone in a classroom, George cast a silencing charm over the door.

"We'd like to know if there's any chance of recovering the money that was stolen from us," George said.

"Ron's confessed to stealing it, but he won't admit to where he's hidden it." Replied McGonagall. "We've placed a tracking charm on him and posted someone to watch him … to be honest he could already have gotten rid of it. He was missing a fair amount of time before we caught him. We'll do everything we can, I assure you. Why did you have so much money with you to begin with?"

"We've been doing charity work for a close friend of ours … he needs money really badly and we were raising it for him, but..."

"He doesn't yet know it was stolen, Professor. He thinks we've still got it. We need it back."

"At the very least we need to raise more, but we don't have much time," said George, biting his lip. "Is there anything we could do – a sponsored event of some kind – that would raise a large amount of money in one night?"

McGonagall gazed at her lions thoughtfully. "I'm not sure it will be possible for the school to organise such a thing on short notice … Triwizard, Yule Ball and Quidditch Cup … you'd have to organise it yourselves, you know … I'll come up with ideas, I'll ask the other teachers. Ask your friends, look up older events, maybe try to beat records, but I'll get back to you on it. We'll try to fit it in – don't get your hopes up, but we'll give it a good try."

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ x ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

The Gryffindor Quidditch Team was gathered on the pitch, dressed in uniform, all nervous. Oliver Wood was pacing, making hysterical gestures with his hands as he went on and on about how Gryffindor might have to back out of the Cup, how they still hadn't found a replacement Seeker for Harry, who couldn't compete because of his involvement in the Triwizard Tournament.

"Without a Seeker we can't possibly hope to win!" he argued, rounding on his team as if it were their fault. In this case nobody would really be surprised if he started foaming at the mouth. "Our first match is against Slytherin. They're going to cheat their way to the cup like they've done every previous year! It's too late to train anyone up!"

"Nobody was decent enough to make the team?" asked Angelina tensely.

"No!" shouted Wood. "Otherwise we wouldn't be in this mess, would we?"

"Calm down!" snapped Alicia. "Don't take it out on us. We've done nothing wrong."

"Yeah, we tried finding a replacement, but Seekers have _specific_ skills – they're not as easy to come by." Katie said, tossing the Quaffle to Wood. He caught it stiffly. "We'll just have to play without a Seeker and make sure that they don't catch the Snitch."

"We _can't!_" exclaimed Wood. "All of the other teams have one – Hufflepuff have a reserve even though Cedric's in the Tournament! Our match against Slytherin is in two weeks."

"Why can't Fred or George play?" asked Angelina, fiddling with her broomstick. The twins looked at each other. "They've played once before, and they were pretty-"

"Bad!" said Wood, and the twins glared at him indignantly. "Sharp eyes, great, but their flying is too aggressive! Besides, we need Beaters – those two are the best we have on rotation."

"Which will do bugger all if they catch the Snitch," said Fred pointedly. "We can aim the Bludgers at Malfoy, stop him from getting close to it, but their Beaters will probably catch us and try to ram us out of the sky."

George just sat there quietly, staring at the bat in his hands. What were they expected to do? Whip out a Seeker good enough to tackle the other teams?

"You shout any louder? I still hear myself think on Durmstrang ship!" came a voice, and they all looked skyward. Krum was flying on a Firebolt, dressed in his Quidditch uniform, a caught Snitch in his hand.

"Sorry," muttered Wood. "We didn't mean to disturb you..."

"Not problem … I hear vat you talk about. You need Seeker?"

Wood began to explain the situation – that they needed a competent Seeker in the next two weeks otherwise they'd be at a severe disadvantage in the Interhouse Cup. Krum listened attentively, his eyes drifting over the gathered six people, and then his eyes settled on Wood again.

"Forget about Seekers for now – look at your team, they just as concerned … Is time you fly, get some practice done," he said, and flew up higher to the pitch and let go of the Snitch.

They got into the sky but morale was low. Wood was disappointed and annoyed with all of them – he kept referring to Fred and George as 'Beaters' and the others as 'Chasers', warning them all for one member's fault. Fred was pretty annoyed, and not just because of his lousy attitude. The Snitch kept buzzing around his head and distracting him, sending the glint of sunlight straight into his eyes and tearing his concentration away from the Bludgers.

When a Bludger nearly knocked him off of his broom and came around for another strike, he decided he'd had enough. The Snitch drew closer – he let out a frustrated growl. Without really thinking about it, his arm shot out and he threw the bloody buzzing irritant away from him before pelting the Bludger into the stands and straight out the other side.

"YOU!" shouted a thick Bulgarian accent, and Fred swung around as Krum dropped to his level. "Vhy you do that?"

"It was getting on my nerves," said Fred sourly.

"No, no, I not angry," said Krum thoughtfully. "You _catch_ it … maybe … give me bat." Fred handed it over. "Chase Snitch. I vatch."

"I hate Seeking, and besides, Wood will-"

"No care what Vood does," insisted Krum. "Catch Snitch. I vatch."

Fred glanced down at Wood – he was too busy shouting at Angelina to notice what anyone else was doing. Before everything with Lee, he would have gone down there and defended her, but he was still angry with her. Looking to George, he saw his twin give an encouraging nod, and then he sighed.

"Fine," he said, and looked for the Snitch. He caught sight of it near immediately – it was in the distance over Krum's shoulder, and he ducked down underneath the Quidditch player and took off on his Cleansweep. It was slower than a Firebolt, not built for chasing Snitches, but he was comfortable with it. It responded to the slightest touch and movement he made, and he'd flown it for several years. He could have afforded an upgrade or a different, faster model but he didn't want one.

In his pursuit of the Snitch, he shot past Wood, inches away from hitting him, only seeing him at the last second through his tunnel vision. He heard the Captain shout out; ignored it, and kept on flying.

"Your broom is too slow!" called Krum. "Fly to intercept, not outrun!"

Intercept a Snitch? That was going to require a lot of guesswork. He could see the slightest movement it made – his vision was as sharp as a Phoenix's. The instant it pulled up or turned, he turned, and he was slowly getting closer to it. He reached out his hand … ten feet, five, four, three... he was flying straight up now, the Snitch inches from his reach …

Falling backwards, he flew back down towards Krum and tossed the infernal thing to him. Krum caught it in one hand, and was grinning madly as it fluttered idly in his hand. George bumped him from one side, laughing happily, and Wood came up and stared at him, abandoning the goals completely.

"Not bad," said Krum, assessing his performance. "Need practice … faster broom maybe, but I've seen vorse."

"I told you to practice Beating!" hissed Wood.

"Talk to my twin like that again, Wood, and I'll give you plenty of practice _right here!"_ growled George, lifting his bat warningly.

"I ask him to Seek," Krum explained. "I borrow your Beaters, Vood? I teach them few things. Vill help."

Wood eyed Krum warily for a few moments, his dark hair flat against his forehead through sweat. It was a very warm day. George felt a little bit disorientated from the heat, but he lowered his internal body temperature – something that he'd come to do instinctively now.

"Okay," said Wood, and he flew back down to the Chasers. "Hurry up!"

Krum led them a little farther away from the rest of the training Gryffindors and turned to face the twins. They were both excited – Krum, a Quidditch superstar, was going to teach them?

"Vhen I vatch both of you fly, is good, smooth … you vish to vin this cup?"

"Yes," chorused the twins.

"Then you need Seeker. Vat if I say … er, in English … I vill teach you, how to Seek, in return for von thing." He said awkwardly, his inexperience in their language shining through. "You vill also teach me..." he cursed in Bulgarian, "Vill you teach me … about Her-my-own-ninny? Vat she like, vether she likes me...?"

"You want us to give you dating tips-" started Fred.

"-in return for Quidditch lessons?" finished George.

Krum nodded shyly.

The twins grinned. "Deal."


	16. Athena

Athena padded through the hallway of Hogwarts slowly, her eyes scanning over the smooth old flagstone and the narrow archways. There were age cracks spattered every now and then, but considering Hogwarts was a very old building, it was in very good shape. She walked with purpose like a predator on the hunt, her hackles raised and claws scratching the stone with every step she took.

Right now she was on the way to the Slytherin dungeons where she would find her quarry, or she would be, she just had to be sure of something first. Footsteps thundered closer followed by distinct, amused laughs, and the twins were giving Filch the run around again. The old caretaker was hobbling after them as fast as he could be allowed, and Mrs. Norris was racing after them as usual.

The twins, unable to see her, scampered past with grins on their faces and eyes glowing with delight. Mrs. Norris skidded to a halt, her eyes wide, as Athena made her presence known. She flattened herself against the ground, her ears drawn back and lips peeled back in a snarl.

Athena bared her fangs, dropped her mouth and let out a warning growl. "Leave my charges be, kitty cat," she warned, scraping her claws against the stone for effect. "I wouldn't want to scar that pretty little face of yours, but I will … lead him astray and you will be spared. I will know if you don't."

Mrs. Norris looked over her shoulder. Filch was coming ever closer. The lamplight was just growing around the curved corner. "Alright," she mewed nervously. "But you won't harm him?"

"He will not be harmed," confirmed Athena, sheathing her claws. "You have my word."

Mrs. Norris led Filch down a different corridor, and Athena carried on her way. When she reached the end of the corridor, she Apparated beneath Black Lake, where the Slytherin common room was concealed, and veiled herself beneath ancient magic. It was one that would make her invisible, but wouldn't silence her pawsteps … she was so light on her feet, she didn't need it anyway.

"I will teach you to hurt my Pride," whispered Athena menacingly, her tail lashing as she crept into the male's dorm. It stank of damp and moss and was dimly lit with torches. The common room itself was cold with only a couple of green and silver rigid sofas and chairs, but the male's dorm had a row of beds like a prison, with hooks and chains hanging from the walls.

Her quarry were huddled near the center of the room where it was warmest. Everyone was asleep. Obviously they thought that nothing could harm them here … how wrong they were.

Athena cast a sleeping charm over the inhabitants of the room and padded towards the fluffed up pale furball sticking out from underneath the luxurious comforters, and lifted her head, her nose wrinkling in disgust. Crabbe's socks stank, and with a jerk of her broad head she tugged the covers over an anonymous pair of socks stained by dead skin and sweat. For her own amusement, she transfigured his privacy curtains into health hazard signs and bound his feet in spell-o-tape.

Knowing that she could move freely without waking anyone up, she snagged the latch of Malfoy's trunk with her claw and narrowed her eyes as it swung open. Inside, aside from a substantial amount of money and some clothes, were notes, books, a few vials of potions labelled _Veritaserum, Calming Draught, Cough Potion_, _Dreamless Sleep _and _Drink of Despair._

"Now why would he have a potion that puts you in pain?" murmured Athena softly, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. He had better not been planning on using it. There were no charms on his trunk – stealing it was just a matter of time! What was he thinking? And Veritaserum was illegal to use in the normal wizarding world, unless under extreme circumstances … she was going to make sure he didn't get a chance to use them.

Confiscating the Drink of Despair was the first instinct, but then she stopped and levitated up the Veritaserum and laced the rest of the potions with it before swapping the labels about. No, let him have his potions. She wasn't there to protect him, she was there to make him pay.

"_Apollo, hear me." _Athena gazed at the sky.

"_Athena!" _came the reply after a few seconds. _"Clever and beautiful … how are you? Have you reconsidered my offer?"_

"_Never in a thousand years," _snarled Athena, her eyes glinting. _"I do have standards."_

"_Pity." _There was a frown in his tone. He was obviously pouting. _"Are you sure?"_

"_Never surer, and that will continue to be my answer. No, what I need of you is your aid. These three have wronged me and-"_

"_Wronged you? Surely not … don't worry, my love, I'll sort them out for you. What do you need? Prolonged cold? Disease? How about a plague?"_

"_Just these three, not the entire school," _said Athena, trying to ignore the annoyance that his very voice gave her. _"I was thinking more along the lines of... sore throat, head ache … minor cold. In fact, make that a flu. Don't want them to get away so easily."_

"_...ahh, I see what you're doing. Very cunning, my little minx-"_

"_-call me anything except Athena and I will sink my claws into your stomach and flay you where it hurts the most."_

"_Oooh, kinky! Okay, okay, I'm kidding, don't murder me … alright, they'll have a vicious flu that will only respond to one specific type of herb. Is there anything else?"_

"_No. Thank you." _Athena smirked as they shifted in their beds, still deeply asleep.

"_Are you sure I can't change your-"_

"_No."_

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ x ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Harry walked through the hall slowly, looking at the walls. They were unfamiliar … but he had seen them before. There were no doors, just a long, unending corridor with a light at one end. Shadows chased him from behind and the instant he glanced over his shoulder, he sped up, speed-walking, jogging … he ran at the light, breathing heavily. Something was chasing him, but he didn't seem to be getting any closer, and whatever was behind was getting closer.

"_Avada Kadavra!"_

Harry was standing in a crib, his arms and legs short and pudgy. A beautiful young woman with sun-kissed pale skin and the most enchanting emerald eyes filled with warmth … and then they changed. They were dull, filled with agony … a sickening flash of green … a cloaked figure standing over him, wand arm raised-

Cedric lying there, his eyes staring, unseeing, at the dull overcast sky … the flashes were getting faster.

"NOOOO!"

George stirring, his ear shredded away – Fred's last laugh – Neville beheading Nagini with a mighty swing – Dumbledore falling in slow motion, down, down, down from the Tower, hitting the ground … Fawkes was singing at his funeral – Sirius being pushed back by the deadly pulse of the Killing Curse – Lupin and Tonks lying side-by-side in the Great Hall – Snape lying on the ground, his black eyes wide, blood pooling down from his throat – George's cold body on Fred's grave, a red and white rose laced around his fingers, the ghost of a final smile upon his face

"_Harry!"_

Harry bolted upright too fast and his head crashed into someone, who recoiled and huffed. All he'd caught was a glimpse of red hair, and for a moment he thought it had been Ron, but when he pulled on his glasses, he saw that it was actually the twins. One leaning over him, the other perched on the side of his bed, they both looked tired and a bit startled, and Harry put the pieces together instantly.

Another nightmare.

And as if that wasn't bad enough, everyone in the dorm was now awake and looking straight at him. Perhaps he'd started screaming … his blankets were twisted so tightly around his lower half that he actually couldn't move his legs, and his hair stuck to his face like someone had flung tar at him.

"Bloody hell," cursed the twin he had headbutted, rubbing at his nose to massage the damage. "Think you could do that a little harder, Harry? … don't think you broke my nose that time 'round."

"It'd be an improvement, believe me," muttered the other, who deftly avoided a swat around the back of the head.

"Sorry, er... George." Harry guessed.

"You alright, mate?" asked the one who had been rubbing his nose – Fred. "Shouted so loud you might have scared a Boggart."

"Nightmares," mumbled Harry, running his hand through his hair and rubbing the sweat from his forehead on his sleeve. "Sorry everyone."

"Don't be," said Fred, stifling a yawn. "You work wonders as an alarm clock … reckon we could sneak out and maybe play a prank on Filch. Can't be bothered going back to sleep. George?"

"Sure. You coming, Harry?"

Harry had never pulled a prank with the twins. He'd always been afraid of getting caught. There was no way he was going to get any more sleep, and he was still haunted by the images of the twins lying wounded, lying dead … just looking at them now, he saw them dying, he saw them being separated … no. They were safe at Hogwarts for the while. Nothing could get in through the wards that might harm them.

"Er, Harry?"

In his dreamscape he had won the war at terrible costs, but this was reality, or he hoped so anyway. He had never pulled a prank with them that he could remember, and after the terrors of what he had just witnessed, he really needed a pick-me-up. He needed several. The Triwizard Tournament was going as he had expected it to – the dragons for the first task, he'd been pitted against the Hungarian Horntail … it'd broken free from the chains, a few variations – Charlie and the other tamers hadn't shouted out the last time …

"Harry?"

But then again, Ron hadn't … well, hadn't acted this way. The twins had lost their earnings through Bagman conning them. In this dream world, they seemed to have lost it because of Ron stealing it. Ron had acted very peculiar since they'd attended the World Cup and been separated in the forest … he'd thought nothing of it at the time, but what if something had happened to Ron? Was this just a phase, or was it stress-induced? What if-

Harry grunted as Fred hit him over the head with his own pillow and he snapped out of thoughts instantly. Throwing the pillow down, Fred was frowning at him, his curtains of fiery hair swinging back and forth with every movement.

"Mate, you coming or what? If not, can we borrow your cloak?"

"I'm coming, I'm coming …"

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ x ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Hermione stared at her plate and blindly picked up her fork with trembling hands, moving slowly, as if something would suddenly come along and spare her the torment of having to eat again. Last time she'd tried to eat anything, she'd ran out of the Great Hall and vomited, and so Madam Pomfrey had decided to have her meals eaten in the privacy of the hospital wing instead, where there was less pressure on her. Rather than leave her alone, however, her friends – Krum, Harry, George, Fred and Ginny (Lee had got himself a detention with Snape somehow, else he would have come too) – had decided that they would come up and eat with her.

"It's great," said Fred as he helped himself to a slice of beef. "It's like our own private party!"

Hermione just stared at her plate. There wasn't anything fancy – it wasn't overflowing with a mountain of food. Just a couple of potatoes, a bit of chicken and some gravy … her mouth watered and her mind said eat, but her stomach let out a protesting growl that was half mutinous. It just made her sound even hungrier.

"Please eat," murmured Krum, squeezing her hand gently. "Vill make you better. Just take it von step at time."

"I – I can't," said Hermione, and she dropped her fork onto the bed she sat on cross-legged and pushed the food away. "There's too much."

"You're not fat," said Harry with a warm smile. He nudged the plate back towards her. "Trust us … just lift the fork to your mouth and-"

"I know how to use a fork!" snapped Hermione, shaking uncontrollably. "I just – I just _can't_, alright?"

"_I think it's us lot that are the problem, Fred," _murmured George through their Link. _"She's self-conscious about eating, not her weight … we're making her nervous."_

"_But she doesn't want to be alone," _replied Fred, glancing at his brother. _"Let's distract them … that way she doesn't feel pressured."_

George and Fred stood up and walked to the end of the bed. The others followed them with their eyes, and all attention on Hermione was transferred to them. Fred pulled out a sparking ball – the one that Professor Lupin had seen in the Gryffindor common room a while back – and started juggling it in his hands. They toyed with it, threw it at each other and caught it, even trying to throw peas in each others mouths as they did it. They more often than not missed, but they achieved what they wanted.

While everyone was distracted and making _ooh_ and _ahh_ing noises, Hermione, looking cornered with her eyes flicking back and forth, scooped up a few bites of food and ate it rapidly, as if someone would turn around and take it back off of her. Krum, of course, who was sat right beside her, caught onto their distraction and smiled, even going as far to get up and join them.

"Vat is dis?" he asked, and as the two launched into an explanation of what it was that they had invented, Ginny was observing Krum with what looked like admiration, and Harry was gazing at Ginny in deep thought. He was smiling, remembering the other Ginny, his wife and mother to his children.

When the tiny sparking ball finally extinguished, Hermione had wolfed down her plate and even a couple of little bits from the snack plates that had been brought up. Krum was ordering a couple of the sparking balls so that he could use them in his spare time, and Hermione smiled as the twins' eyes lit up with joy. When they all finally sat down again, Hermione was back to staring at her plate, although she was turning her fork between her fingers and not actually thinking about her anorexia at all.

"Vell done!" exclaimed Krum happily. The duck-footed Bulgarian gave her a look of pure joy. "You ate vat was on plate."

"I- it wasn't hard," Hermione blushed and tucked her bushy hair behind her ear.

"You have improved greatly – how about cele... er, vat you call it? Another party?"

"Celebration," chimed Hermione automatically.

"Yeah!" exclaimed the twins. "We could bring some butterbeer next time."

"Butterbear?" asked Krum in confusion.

"Butterbeer," corrected George. "We'll show you. It's a really good drink – non-alcoholic, if you're into that … well there is a little bit in but-"

"-it's a drink that's popular at Hogwarts. We get it from Hogsmeade." Fred finished, giving the exact same smile as his twin.

Krum just looked dumbfounded, looking at Fred, then George. After a moment he threw his arms up in the air and said, "I no tell two of you apart! _Vat is_ dis _madness?_"

"Magic," said the twins in unison, wiggling their fingers and laughing. Krum groaned, but soon everyone was laughing along with them.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ x ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Fred's quill followed the words across the page as he read, his cheek propped upon his closed fist. His eyes drifted upwards as Professor Snape stalked past, his black robes swirling around his feet. Greasy hair stuck to his head as if someone had thrown a dungbomb made of oil at his head, and he had a sneer scratched across his face as he stepped past Harry Potter.

Somehow they had landed themselves in a detention … well, that 'somehow' had been the prank that they had pulled on Filch with Harry. They'd run straight into Snape, but it had been worth it, pelting him with dungbombs until his office floor was covered and vanishing his shoes so he couldn't do anything but sit there. He'd been asleep, his wrinkled head thrown back, drool sliding out of the corner of his mouth … it had been disgusting to watch. Filch had been woken by the stench and Harry's muffled giggles, seen the twins hiding around the corner and screamed with rage.

"_Think we can get out of this one?" _asked George.

Fred eyed Snape warily. _"Not unless you want us to be held in detention for another six years," _he replied. _"But then again, six whole years with Snape … think how much plotting with could do in that time."_

"_But how much pranking," _George commented, scratching a few sentences down onto his parchment. Reaching into his shirt, he scratched at his collar bone, craning his neck to get better access. The thin, warm silver chain jingled beneath his-

"What is that?" asked Snape slowly, turning towards George.

"It's called a sound, sir." George said with a smile. "Perhaps you've heard of one...?"

"I know what a sound is, Mr. Weasley, but what did I tell you about _making_ sounds?"

Fred twirled his quill between his fingers. It flew from his grasp and skittered across the flagstone. "So far only our parents have given us _that_ conversation … you've never mentioned it. Didn't think it was proper of a teacher."

Snape's face started to flush red. "Don't play games with me!" he warned. "Hand it over!"

George froze. Hermes had warned them...

_He grinned as the twins laughed and nodded their approval. "By the way, my boys, that idea with the chalks – brilliant! But don't do it yet – there's someone going to Hogwarts next year who'll just love you. Now it's time you were sent back to Hogwarts, but... one more thing ... yes, yes, here we are. Take these with you – don't take them off!"_

"Why?"

Snape sneered. "Are you disobeying a teacher? Five points from Gryffindor. Now hand it over."

"_Hermes warned us not to take it off, Fred."_

"I never disobeyed you, I'm just asking why you need it," said George. "It's a chain that my twin gave me for our birthday."

"How charming. I may just vomit. Another five points from Gryffindor for wasting more of my time. Hand it over."

"He can't take it off," blurted Fred. "He can only take it off if I take mine off, and I've done nothing wrong."

"By talking in detention, you have now done something wrong," sneered Snape. "Hand them over."

"_Any dungbombs left?"_

"_Not on me – used 'em all on Filch!"_

"_Could always make a break for it … failing that, we could rile him up so badly he kicks us out."_

"_And risk losing all our house points?" _The twins stared at each other for a moment and then broke out into matching grins. _"Bring it."_

Turned out that it didn't take much to anger Snape enough to get kicked out – Harry included. At first Harry had been amused, watching them throwing caution to the wind. Then, as Snape's face became the very personification of pure rage, he had started feeling uneasy, then afraid and then downright horrified, and yet the twins continued to dance about and laugh with reckless abandon without seeming to acknowledge the fact that the enraged Potions Master even existed.

They would have to serve a detention with McGonagall and no doubt she'd be wanting to know what they'd managed to do to her colleague to get him so hell bent. Snape would probably be on the warpath for a while to come and while the twins didn't care so much, they felt sorry for anyone who had potions in the morning.

Harry wandered out to do some flying. Fred and George headed over to Professor Lupin's office where they hoped he would teach them some new spells and maybe even input new ideas for pranks. Fred knocked on his door and they meandered in, closing the door behind them, smiling as their favourite Professor (aside from McGonagall, of course) looked up from the papers he was marking.

"Hello boys," he said. "Come for a chat?"

They talked about a variety of random things, mostly Fred and George while Lupin planted in his two Knuts every there and then, until somehow they were roped into doing some extra credit work for classes. "Do this," said Professor Lupin, "and I'll excuse you from next week's homework … the differences between Sirens and Merpeople. You see, I need to figure out what your class has and hasn't done..."

He pulled out a chest from a corner of the room. "Contained within here is a Boggart … you've heard of them, I take it. Ever faced one?"

"We heard about it in class, never actually seen one," said Fred.

"Play on your weaknesses, don't they?" asked George.

"Not quite," replied Lupin. "They feed off your fear by reflecting your worst nightmares at you … planning on using it in a few of my classes, you see. Would you like a try?"

Neither wanted to say no. They didn't want to appear weak in front of Moony the Marauder. They both listened intently as he showed them the wand movement and told them the incantation, and Fred stepped forward to take the first shot.

"_Give it a good shot, Fred."_

Except when the latch flew open and the Boggart broke free, they both found themselves facing their worst nightmare at the same time.

A mirror of themselves lying dead on the floor, bloodied, beaten and broken.


End file.
